


For the Greater Good of God

by RuinNine



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothers, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Police, Saints, Vigilantism, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1994910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinNine/pseuds/RuinNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holiness is in right action, and courage on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another "old" story. It's partly based on and inspired by the brilliant movie "The Boondock Saints". It follows the movie closely in the beginning (so you won't have to watch it to understand the story), but then the plot takes a different path. I own nothing but my own plot ideas and I'm no native speaker, but I tried my best. Sorry, Troy. ^^

 

 

 

 _Warning 1:_ Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our feature presentation tonight to warn you that the following material may not be suitable for those suffering from a weak heart. It contains coarse language, possibly even violent graphic sex scenes or drug use, and a large, deafening, unhealthy dose of blood fucking sugar. // Pendulum – Blood Sugar

 

 _Warning 2:_ Now, this story has been written for entertainment purposes only. Anyone hoping for a realistic setting that makes sense throughout the entire plot will be disappointed. Also, anyone who takes religion very seriously might feel offended by the steering of Christian devotion into dark and potentially immoral waters. Anyone else: welcome to the freak show!

 

 

— † —

 

 

**We must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most.**

**And that is the indifference of good men.**

 

 

Iker loved their national day – no, really, he did. He loved eating only Spanish food all day long, he loved humming the Marcha Real under his breath at work and he loved drinking Spanish beer with the boys at Doc's wannabe tapas bar. But if he had to listen to his brother sing another flamenco song with that drunk-as-shit voice of his, he _would_ kill him. So when Sergio took a deep breath to intone yet another one of his favourites, he shot him a glare that said 'one more and you're going to sleep outside tonight'. His brother, however, used to those glares due to a life-long tradition of ignoring them, just laughed right in his face.

 

Iker sighed. “Fuck you.”

 

That only made Sergio laugh harder. “Aww, don't be like that. You still love me.”

 

He tried to loop an arm around Iker's back, but his older brother just pushed him over, so he had to catch hold of the counter. That didn't erase the grin from his annoyingly handsome face, though. “I know a song...,” he started in a sing song voice. “I know a song that will annoy the shit out of you, o brother mine. And it goes like-”

 

He didn't get any further as Iker suddenly pounced on him, catching him in a headlock. Sergio still tried to sing, but found he couldn't through the need to giggle his drunken way through the little fake fight they were staging for their bawling friends. Somehow, they ended up on the floor, each of them trying to gain the upper hand.

 

And then the door opened, spilling two definitely huge, definitely foreign and definitely pissed men into the bar. For a moment, they just glowered at the band of drunk Spanish boys who stared right back, before the leader stepped forward with a high-handed air. “I am Ivan Checkov, and this bar will close _right now_.”

 

“Checkov?” Sergio sent him a smirk as he pulled Iker off the floor. “Well, this here's McCoy. We find a Spock, and we've got us an away team.”

 

A ripple of giggles went through the boys surrounding the bar, but Ivan didn't look amused. At all. “You.” He pointed a meaty finger at Doc. “You stay. The rest of you, get the fuck out.”

 

Iker frowned. Now that wasn't pleasant. “What's going on here, Doc?”

 

All eyes turned to the poor barkeeper who shrugged helplessly. “They bought a lot of buildings all over the town, including this one. And they wouldn't renew my lease.”

 

“That's right.” Ivan pointed to the door. “Out. And I won't say it again.”

 

Pushing his hands into his hips, Doc huffed. “Why don't _you_ get out?”

 

With a dramatic motion of throwing his hands up, Sergio sauntered over to the bar and grabbed two unoccupied shots. “Here. Today, we're all Spanish. Let's all sit down, get drunk, and talk like civilised people, alright?”

 

Usually, Sergio could open doors anywhere with his boyish charm, but today, it was bound to fall on deaf ears. “This is no game!” Ivan shot forward and punched the glasses right out of his hands. The boys watched them go, trying to process the insult in their shit-faced state, as Ivan got right up in Sergio's face. “You go, or we will make you go!”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Fernando hated national days – no, really, he did. They were bothersome things, either linked to annoying issues like parades or false displays of national pride (or even worse, music festivals), or they led to additional office hours in his already pretty busy schedule. The Spanish national day was no exception, and when he finally arrived on the crime scene, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. They usually didn't get called into this neighbourhood, as everything around here was sorted out on the quiet, without the help of any kind of authorities. He couldn't deny it then, his curiosity was piqued.

 

The Chief greeted him at the entrance of the shabby backyard. “Agent Torres, I'm glad you were available.”

 

Fernando shook the hand offered to him. “I'm glad you called. One more conspiracy theory and I might have handed in my notice.”

 

The Chief chuckled quietly. “I think you'll like this case then. It's an interesting crime scene, to say the least.”

 

“Lead the way.”

 

As he followed the Chief through the crowd of curious onlookers and police officers into the back alley, it didn't take long for Fernando to realize just how interesting of a case this might be. The two victims lying on their bellies on the dirty ground were big and brawny men, their look screaming 'thug' – Russian, if he wasn't mistaken. Both of them wore bandages, one of them around his head, the other – here, Fernando blinked, but the image remained the same – around his backside. Before he could take a closer look, however, he was distracted by three detectives bickering close by. When the Chief moved forward to interrupt them, Fernando motioned for him to wait a moment. He liked to observe the people he was going to rely on in a case beforehand – especially if they came up with hilarious theories such as these.

 

“All I'm saying is that it must have been some huge guy if he managed to take them down with a bloody kitchen sink or something. I tell you, he was a huge motherfucker. Like three, four hundred pounds. Yeah, huge.”

 

“Pep, that's ridiculous. Why would he wait for them here with a _kitchen sink?!”_

 

“Maybe it was a spontaneous robbery. I mean, it's been Spanish National Day last night, everyone around here was drunk off their asses. And that huge guy thought 'Oh well, perfect moment to ambush those poor fuckers coming down the alley...'.” The bald detective turned towards the victims. “Wrong alley, guys!” He shrugged. “And then he found that sink and BAM, lights out!”

 

When his two colleagues just shook their heads, clearly used to the wild imagination of their fellow detective, Fernando decided to intervene before this guessing game got (further) out of hand. “That's brilliant.” The detectives spun around, and he greeted them with an amused grin. “I suppose the case is solved. Thank you very much, Detective...?”

 

The bald guy huffed. “Reina. And who the fuck are you?”

 

Fernando tapped the badge that was attached to the lapel of his coat. “That's who the fuck I am.”

 

Detective Reina threw up his hands, but didn't get to voice his protest, for the Chief chose that moment to step in. “These two men are listed for connections with the Russian Mafia. That's why we'll get assisted by the F.B.I.'s organized crime task force. Agent Torres here is an expert in this field, so he will lead the investigations while all of you are going to behave.”

 

And after sending each of his detectives a pointed glare, he turned to leave. Reina stared after him, bewildered, before focusing on Fernando again. But once again, his protest was scotched. “Detective Reina,” Fernando smiled. “Why don't you go and enlighten the coffee shop around the corner with your impressive theories? I guess a cup of nice black coffee for each of us will do.”

 

“What the f-” For a moment, Reina looked like he might throw a fit, but then he opted for running after the Chief instead. “Chief!”

 

The Chief, however, just threw him a warning look over his shoulder, so the detective finally gave in and skulked down the street, muttering to himself – after glaring daggers at Fernando one last time. Fernando sighed and clapped his hands once. “So, what have we got?”

 

The detectives Gerrard and Alonso exchanged a glance as they watched him pull a pair of latex gloves from his coat pocket and kneel down next to the victim with the bandage around his backside that lay next to a waste container. Rummaging through the trash surrounding it, he ran his fingers over the ceramic shards of the supposed kitchen sink and over a hole in the container. He hummed under his breath and walked over to the other victim.

 

The detectives exchanged another glance as they watched him produce a little bottle of dark red liquid from his other pocket, which he poured over the hand of the victim. They were definitely intrigued and curious about what kind of theory the agent would come up with – even more so when Fernando suddenly disappeared into a narrow side alley that was connected to the backyard. He took a closer look at the brick wall at the end and then sauntered back over to them, a pleased look on his face.

 

“Well then, gentlemen. Get your boys. I want them to find out if there've been any complaints about water dripping down the walls, and to sift through this trash and see if they can find two bullet casings and metal parts matching those of a sink or anything bathroom-related. Also, get ballistics down here to dig a bullet out of the wall in the alley and another out of the waste container.”

 

As Alonso headed down the alley to pass on the orders to a group of police officers, Detective Gerrard just stared at him, dumbfounded. “How did you see that?”

 

Fernando held up the little bottle. “Liquid paraffin. And, well...” He grinned. “Bullet holes.”

 

The detective tried to cover up his embarrassment with a cough. “And uh... any conclusions?”

 

“Yes. Those guys may be part of the Russian Mafia, but this doesn't look like a typical gangland assassination. It's way too sloppy and all over the place for that.” Fernando frowned and pulled a hand through his hair. “I don't think this has got anything to do with the Mafia. It looks more like some kind of mishap, a heat of the moment thing. Or self-defence.”

 

Gerrard looked like he wanted to ask another question, but he was interrupted by Alonso's return. “We've found a lady on the fourth floor, complaining about water running down her walls since this morning, just like you said.”

 

“Then I'd say we'll have a look at the fifth.”

 

As they climbed the stairs, Fernando went ahead, already mulling over what to do next, while Alonso and Gerrard trailed behind, engaged in a silent battle of meaningful looks, wiggling eyebrows and a series of hand gestures. Unseen by them, Fernando rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to the fifth floor a bit harder than necessary. “Why is it always me?,” he muttered under his breath as he scanned the doors for any clues. At the end of the hall, one of them was wide open. “Would you check that one, please?”

 

The two detectives quickly drew their guns and walked down the corridor to peer inside the flat. When they turned back to Fernando, their eyes were wide and there was a look of awe on their faces. “You were right, sir.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

As Doc hovered in front of his own tapas bar, the keys dangling from his hands, he couldn't suppress a sigh. He had spent more than half of his life nurturing this baby, and then, all of a sudden, he was forced to give it all up – just because the old brick wall beauty was part of some Russian world dominance scheme. Those damn Russians... Walking into his bar as if they already owned it. Which wasn't the case, not until Sunday, anyway. He sighed again as he thought about the incident of last night. He just hoped the Russians weren't bent on payback for that one.

 

The taproom was as dark and silent as ever as he stepped through the back door, but somehow, he had the feeling that something was amiss, so he froze and strained his ears. Nothing. But just as he was about to shake his head and call himself a fool, the floorboards of the office upstairs creaked. Repeatedly. Those damn... With a barely suppressed curse, he rushed over to the bar and retrieved his rifle from where it had been gathering dust beneath the counter.

 

As quietly as he could, he crept up the stairs, unconsciously skipping the one step in the middle that always made a screeching sound. When he reached the door at the top, he could see faint light shining around the frame where the door didn't close properly, and there were voices too. He couldn't make out the words, but he didn't need to. No one broke into his baby and got away with it! Taking a deep breath, he willed his shaking hands to still before he charged through the door – “I told you, you Russian motherf-” – and came face to face with a terrified Sergio.

 

“Jesus, Doc!” The young Spaniard raised a hand to splay his fingers over his chest. “I think my heart just stopped beating!”

 

Doc dropped the rifle, his own heart still racing. “What the-”

 

“Sorry, Doc. We didn't want to scare you, but we had nowhere else to go.”

 

Doc's eyes snapped to the couch in the corner and to Iker, who looked back at him with a tired, but apologetic gaze. And only then did he realize what they were wearing: both of them were only clad in a ragged bathrobe, splattered with blood, and black boots. “What happened to you guys?”

 

Iker sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, the sleeves of the bathrobe falling back to reveal bandages around his wrists. “The Russians from last night. They're dead.”

 

“Oh.” Doc swayed over to his desk and dropped down into his office chair. “Jesus Christ.”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Sergio muttered. “Listen, Doc, we're going to-”

 

A sharp knock against the front door of the pub abruptly interrupted him and for a moment, they all looked at each other with wide eyes, before Iker slowly sat up. “Go and see who it is, Doc. Sergio will take your rifle and wait on the landing in case it's the Russians.”

 

Doc rose from his chair and rushed to the door, only half aware of Sergio trailing behind him as he made his way down the stairs, his heart once more beating a mile a minute in his chest. When he reached the front door, he took a second to smooth down his coat before he pulled the door open. The man waiting on the other side didn't exactly look Russian, or like any other Mafia-related gangland mob, either. In fact, he looked rather nice, with his young face, friendly smile and dark eyes that betrayed intelligence and wit.

 

“Mr. Martínez?” He didn't even wait for a nod. “I'm Fernando Torres, F.B.I.. I have some questions for you, concerning an incident in a backyard two streets down.”

 

“Oh.” Manners, Doc. Get a grip! “Please come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

 

The agent smiled, his curious eyes scanning the bar, and Doc's nervousness reached a new high. “No, thank you. I'm good.”

 

“So...” Doc offered him a seat at a table, and the agent dipped his chin in thanks. “I think I already heard about that particular incident.”

 

The agent set his piercing gaze on him, and Doc had to fight the urge to knead his hands. “Did you now?”

 

“Yeah,” he tried a small smile. “News travels fast in this neighbourhood, you know.”

 

“And do you know anything about it? Did anything happen last night? A brawl, maybe?”

 

Doc suppressed the urge to swallow. “No. The boys in here behaved, for a change.”

 

The agent hummed low in his throat. He didn't look entirely convinced, but obviously decided to let it go for now. “Alright then. Thank you for your time.” He stood, slightly towering over Doc as he offered his hand for him to shake. “Good day, Mr. Martínez.”

 

“Good day, Agent Torres.”

 

Doc allowed himself an inaudible sigh of relief as he followed the agent to the door. His guest sent him one last smile as he left the bar that felt more like a warning, and compelled Doc to close the door quickly behind him. He didn't get far, though.

 

“Oh! Mr. Martínez?” Oh, Mary Mother of God, please... Doc pulled the door back open, trying to cover his reluctance. But his fretting had been for nothing, as the agent just offered him a calling card. “If you hear anything, I'd be very grateful if you let me know.”

 

“Sure,” Doc muttered and finally pushed the door shut, only to collapse against it. “Jesus Christ... Boys?” The brothers appeared at the top of the stairs, Sergio's grip on the rifle still tight. “That was an F.B.I. agent. I don't know if he believed that I didn't know anything.”

 

The brothers exchanged a look and Iker nodded. “We were going to turn ourselves in anyway.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! :)

Happy birthday, Lu! <3


	2. Chapter 2

— † —

 

 

“Alright, quiet down, everyone!” Fernando waited patiently until the racket of the police office had died down, although he was seething inside. “Thank you. Now, thanks to someone who, I assume, made it through police academy thanks to daddy's riches, the backyard case was leaked to the press. That's going to make our work _so much easier_. So, thanks to that idiot, the brothers responsible for the deaths of two men are celebrated as superheroes, triumphing over evil. But they are no heroes. They are ordinary men who found themselves in a tight spot and somehow managed to pull through.” Fernando ran a hand through his hair, his anger slowly giving way to frustration. “Sure enough, we've got no entry on either of them. All we have instead are the praises of their neighbours who think that those two are angels. But angels don't kill, so be careful.”

 

“Agent Torres?” Fernando nodded at the young officer to continue. “Do we consider them armed and dangerous?”

 

Fernando pondered the question for a moment. “Not armed, considering what they used to defend themselves. But definitely dangerous, yes. Like I said, be careful, and keep your eyes open.”

 

“Oh come on,” Detective Reina huffed, cowering slightly under Fernando's glare, but carrying on anyway. “Those guys are miles away by now. Anything uniform-related scares the shit out of them. I think we should leave a trail of carrots for them to follow, and lure the scared little rabbits out of their hole.”

 

“We'd prefer a trail of beer instead.”

 

Fernando's head shot up at the new voice, and only years of experience in this job stopped his jaw from dropping. In the doorway to the police station stood the brothers, the younger holding the other up with an arm around his shoulders. They didn't really look like scared little rabbits.

 

“Would you like some coffee?” Fernando motioned for the brothers to follow him and helped himself to a smirk when they nodded. “Reina? Be so kind?”

 

Once they were settled into his office, Fernando allowed himself a closer look at the brothers. The older – Iker, wasn't it? – was a dark and broody kind of person, serious and definitely the leader of the two. The younger, Sergio, was the complete opposite, his vibrant eyes twinkling with mischief and his whole frame never holding still, as if he were made of flowing water.

 

Fernando cleared his throat. Focus. “First of all-” He rummaged around his desk drawers for a moment before his hand closed around a plastic bag. Aha. “-I think these are yours.”

 

He pushed the bag across the desk. The eyes of the brothers lit up at the sight of their rosaries, identical but for the small metal cross that was attached to the one belonging to Sergio – who now turned his brightest smile on him as he wrapped the wooden pearls around his wrist. “Oh, thank you! I thought I'd never see it again!”

 

Fernando smiled, slightly embarrassed under the onslaught of such disarming gratitude. “You can't go back to your flat, of course, because it's a crime scene. And these were the only personal things we could find, so I thought you might like them back. But now to my questions. Why turn yourselves in?”

 

Iker shrugged. “We acted in self-defence.”

 

Fernando waited for a moment, but it seemed as if that explanation was enough for Iker. Interesting. “I thought so. Did you know them?”

 

“We met them last night.”

 

Fernando leaned back in his chair. “So... would you like to tell me anything about their interesting bandages?”

 

The brothers exchanged a look.

 

“ _Now that wasn't nice!,” Sergio sneers in fluent Russian at the leader of the Mafia duo. “Either reconsider our offer or get the fuck out!”_

 

_Ivan recovers quickly from his surprise before he takes a step forward and taps his own chest. “I make the offers here, little Spaniard!”_

 

_Sergio locks eyes with Iker as a sinister smile spreads on his face. “I'll take that as a 'no' then.”_

 

_And then he pulls back his arm and delivers a punch to Ivan's nose that breaks with a satisfying crack, just as Iker flies forward to hand out the same treatment to his bodyguard. Within milliseconds, there is a full-on brawl going on, with glasses breaking and Spanish curses mixing with Russian curses, as Doc cheers them on from behind the counter. Even though the Spanish boys are drunk out of their minds, they easily overpower the outnumbered Russians. They leave the bodyguard to sleep through his smashed-bottle-induced unconsciousness in the corner of the bar and tie Ivan to the top of the counter on his belly._

 

“ _What are you doing,” the Russian screeches. “I tell you, I won't forget your ugly faces, you-”_

 

“ _Now now,” Sergio mocks. “I believe we're finally on the same page. You certainly won't forget us.”_

 

_And with that, he pours half a bottle of whiskey onto Ivan's broad backside – followed by a blazing match._

 

“I see.” Fernando couldn't help a small smile. “So you're fluent in Russian. How come?”

 

Sergio returned the smile, and Fernando was momentarily distracted by the stark contrast between his white teeth and his tanned skin. “Our mother insisted on it.”

 

“Do you speak any other languages?”

 

Iker took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “French, Italian, German... and a little bit of Dutch.”

 

“Impressive. What happened then?”

 

_Sergio yawns and rubs his tired eyes as he slips into his boots and pulls his bathrobe tighter around him. Post-national day mornings are always especially cruel. He risks a glance at the bed on the opposite wall, grinning when he finds Iker mirroring his actions with his eyes still half closed. Sergio has just opened his mouth to mock him about it when the door to their flat bursts open, only to reveal the Russians from last night._

 

_They storm in with their faces a furious grimace and guns drawn, and Sergio can only watch helplessly as Ivan descends onto his brother, delivering a blow to his temple with the barrel of his gun before manhandling him over to the bathroom._

 

“ _Kneel down,” the Russian snarls and pushes Iker to his knees in front of the toilet bowl before tossing him a pair of handcuffs. “Cuff yourself around the back!”_

 

_Sergio tries to rise from the bed, but Ivan's bodyguard catches him around the collar of his bathrobe and forces him down onto his knees, the gun digging into the back of his head. “Let him go, you bastard!”_

 

_Ivan ignores Sergio's shouts and instead leans forward to whisper in Iker's ear. “I came here to kill you both. But I've got a better idea: I'll leave you here while I kill your brother, shoot him in the head. See how you like that, eh?”_

 

_He motions for his bodyguard to drag Sergio up to his feet by his elbow, Ivan taking hold of the other and pulling him out the door, effectively blocking Sergio from trying any stunts. He can only look back helplessly over his shoulder, sending his brother a look full of terror before he disappears down the hall._

 

_Iker screams his brother's name, pulling and tearing at the handcuffs with all his might, but they will not budge. He doesn't let up though, even when he feels warm blood running down his fingers from his bruised wrists. He keeps yanking at the cold metal, bracing himself against the toilet bowl with his whole weight, tears of rage running down his face. And then, just when he feels his strength buckling, the ceramic gives way and he tears the bowl right out of the wall._

 

_Breathing heavily, he clutches it to his chest and stumbles out of the door, heading to the roof on instinct. When he reaches the edge overlooking the backyard, he spots his brother kneeling next to the waste container, Ivan pointing his gun at his head. With the last of his strength, Iker lets go of the toilet bowl right above the Russian's head and, taking a deep breath, jumps off the ridge._

 

_He barely registers how the bowl smashes into Ivan's head, the Russian pulling the trigger in his surprise and the bullet missing Sergio by inches. Iker himself slams into the bodyguard's back from above, the impact pressing the air out of his lungs as another gunshot rings in his ears. And then he knows no more._

 

“What happened then, Sergio? After your brother was out?”

 

“I hit the bodyguard over the head with the lid of the flushing tank. Then I took my brother and ran.” He shrugged. “That's it.”

 

As if to punctuate his statement, there was a knock, quickly followed by Detective Gerrard sticking his head through the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Agent Torres, but the press is here. They've been asking for these guys.”

 

“You're not being charged. It's up to you.”

 

Iker quickly shook his head. “No way. We don't want to talk to that pack of wolves.”

 

Sergio grimaced. “And no pictures, either.” He sent Fernando a careful smile. “Is there any chance that we could stay here? At least until tomorrow?”

 

This time, Fernando returned the smile. “If you think you can behave...?”

 

There was a glint in Sergio's eyes as his smile grew wider. “Oh, I can be a good boy.”

 

Fernando released an amused snort and stood. “Alright then. Time to feed the wolves.”

 

As soon as he was out the door, Iker turned to Sergio with an incredulous expression. “I can be a good boy?! Seriously?”

 

Sergio just shrugged, but his smile didn't waver. “Just saying.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Fernando nodded at the night watchman as he turned into the hall leading to the holding cells, grinning when the officer abruptly sat up straight in order to pretend that he hadn't been on the verge of dozing off mere seconds before. He knew he shouldn't pull through with what he was going to do, but he couldn't help but be drawn back to teasing eyes and a brash smile.

 

When he reached the cell at the end, the only one with its door wide open, he took a deep breath before lightly rapping his knuckles against the bars and sticking his around the door frame. Iker lay curled up on the bed at the far wall, fast asleep, but Sergio raised his head to look at him. In an instant, his face lit up and he lay aside the book Fernando absently identified as Alonso's current lunch break entertainment. Tolkien. Who would've thought.

 

“What can I do for you, Agent Torres?”

 

“I was going to grab a cup of coffee. Would you like to join me?”

 

“Sure.” After a quick glance at Iker, Sergio jumped up from his bed, and Fernando was hit by how good he looked in the simple pair of jeans and the white shirt someone had dug up for the brothers to wear. “Where are we going?”

 

“The cafeteria. I have a strong suspicion that there are still some press people lurking outside, so I wouldn't risk it.”

 

Sergio grinned and shrugged. “Whatever you say. I trust your judgement.”

 

The offhand comment prompted a weird rush of warmth to spread in Fernando's chest, so he busied himself with the coffee machine to regain his composure. “Do you have a place to stay?”

 

Sergio hesitated, his self-confidence faltering for only a second, but Fernando could sense the lie before it was even out in the open. “I don't know yet. Iker said he had it sorted.”

 

Fernando smiled gently when he avoided his eyes. “Martínez' tapas bar?”

 

Sergio gave a start as his gaze snapped back to him. “How did you know?”

 

“I didn't. It was just a guess.” He watched how Sergio's face immediately closed off, his eyes burning with shame and anger at having been tripped up. Fernando held up a hand. “No need to worry. I won't press charges against him for giving a false statement. I understand.”

 

The edge of fury bled out of Sergio's expression, but his eyes stayed withdrawn. “You do?”

 

“Yes. I know he just wanted to protect you.”

 

Sergio nodded, his posture finally relaxing. “He's like a father to us.” Fernando felt the urge to ask about his real father, but got a hold of his curiosity just in time. Sergio had seen the silent question in his eyes, though, and shrugged. “Dead. Didn't even know him. Not really.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Fernando said quietly.

 

“You don't need to be.” Sergio waved a hand in the direction of the coffee machine. “I think it's ready.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. Let's sit down.”

 

Sergio draped himself across his chair, the shirt riding up to reveal a small strip of tanned skin. Fernando knew he did it on purpose, so he decided to distract him (and himself) with questions he'd been dying to ask. “So, what are two smart guys like you doing at a meat packing plant?”

 

“Working?” Sergio laughed at Fernando rolling his eyes. “No, seriously. I don't know. Needed a job, got that one, kept it. How about you? How did you end up here in Boston?”

 

Fernando's whole frame went rigid, even as he berated himself in his head, because he should have seen this question coming. “It's... I...”

 

“Bad subject?” Sergio's voice was soft and sympathetic, and he winced when a flash of pain crossed Fernando's features. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir up bad memories.”

 

Fernando cleared his throat, his eyes set on his white-knuckled grip on his coffee cup. “No, it's okay. It's just... I left Madrid under, let's say, unfortunate circumstances.”

 

Sergio leant forward in his chair. “Which colour?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Which colour do you wear in terms of football?”

 

That startled a laugh from Fernando, but he decided to humour Sergio and his attempt to erase the sudden tension in the air. “Red and white.”

 

“Dear God, no! A Rojiblanco!”

 

Fernando couldn't help it. He just kept laughing at the look of pure disgust on Sergio's face, until the memories of Madrid had faded into the background of his mind once more. “Thank you,” he wheezed. Sergio put his hands on his hips, but his eyes betrayed a spark of triumph. “Seriously, thank you.”

 

A smile played at the corner of Sergio's mouth. “Well, you're welcome, Agent Torres.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

_He watches himself, kneeling next to the waste container in the alley with a look of utter terror on his face as he looks up into Ivan's face. Only Ivan doesn't look like Ivan, but more like a demon from hell, all scales and thorns and black leathery wings. Strangely enough, the creature snarls the same words Ivan had said to him – “I hope your conscience is clear, little Spaniard!” – and raises the gun to aim at his head._

 

_He wants to scream, wants to save himself, but he can't, he's rooted to the spot and forced to watch. All of a sudden, there's fire raining from the sky and the creature starts to howl and writhe in pain, while a storm of voices thunders in his ear._

 

“ _Whoever sheds the blood of man,_

_by man shall his blood be shed,_

_for God made man in his own image.”_

 

_He cowers down to the ground with his arms over his head, shivering and trembling, trying to escape the voices and the fire. It licks at his skin, touching, scorching, but never burning, and he opens his mouth to scream as-_

 

Sergio shot up in his bed with a strangled noise of panic clogging his throat, his hands clutching at his chest and his breathing desperate and erratic, as he was still expecting to draw smoke into his quivering lungs. It took him a minute to calm down enough to open his eyes, and he almost gave a shout of surprise when he found Iker sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

 

“Destroy all that which is evil,” his brother murmured in a low voice.

 

“So that which is good may flourish,” Sergio answered automatically. “Fuck, Iker, I had a terrible dream!”

 

“With Ivan as some ugly black bastard and fire raining from the skies?”

 

Sergio shakily nodded his head. “What does it mean?”

 

Iker locked eyes with him, and they were nothing but dark and _determined_. “I think you know.”

 

Sergio frowned, but closed his eyes and bowed his head anyway, going through the dream image after image and all of a sudden, there was a clarity in his heart that startled him into a gasp. He knew without a shadow of doubt what he had to do, what _they_ had to do. Opening his eyes, he met Iker's unflinching gaze head-on.

 

“Let's go.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! :]


	3. Chapter 3

— † —

 

 

Doc had just sunk down onto his desk in his office after hours of chewing over issues of accounting when a knock at the front door of the bar ripped him out of his three-second-nap. He was just about to simply turn to the other side and ignore the harasser when Iker's muffled voice sounded up the stairs.

 

“Doc, it's us! Open up!”

 

Within a second, Doc was back to being wide awake and he almost tripped over his feet in his haste to reach the door. He ripped it open and pulled the surprised brothers over the threshold. In his joy to see both of them alive and well, he couldn't help but pat Iker's cheek and ruffle Sergio's hair, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

 

Sergio grinned. “It's good to see you too, Doc!”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The agent that came to speak to you, Fernando Torres... he believed us when we said it was self-defence. He let us spend the night at the police station, so we wouldn't be badgered by the press.” Iker started towards the staircase, but then an afterthought occurred to him. “Oh, and Sergio made eyes at him.”

 

While Sergio tried to kill him with nasty looks, Doc put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Oh, Sergio...”

 

“What? He was hot!”

 

“And you just _have_ to pounce on anyone that's hot, right?,” Iker's voice drifted down the stairs.

 

Sergio's face fell in defeat as he trudged after his brother. “I liked him...,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Doc smiled sympathetically and guided him up the steps with a hand on his back. “I'm sure he liked you too, my boy.”

 

Iker awaited them with a look that said 'back to business'. “Where is the bag we gave you, Doc?”

 

“You mean the things Sergio took from that Ivan in the alley?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Doc walked over to his desk and pulled it out from behind his computer. “It's right here.”

 

“Thanks, Doc.”

 

Iker took the bag and emptied its contents onto the table: two guns, a few packs of rolled up banknotes, a Rolex and a BlackBerry. He checked the screen, his eyebrows rising as he found an unread message. When he'd finally deciphered the foreign script, he sent his brother a smirk. “Bingo.”

 

Doc frowned. “Bingo? What's that supposed to mean?”

 

Sergio walked over to Iker and read the message over his shoulder. “That's tomorrow night.”

 

“What is tomorrow night?! Boys?”

 

Iker looked up and the determined look was back in his eyes. “We're going to rid this city of its evil.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“Why are we asking him again, of all people?”

 

Iker sighed, his eyes trained on the young waiter behind the counter of the diner. “Because he used to be a runner for the Spanish Mafia, but quit when his uncle took him in. I'm sure he still knows someone who could help us out.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, he owes me a favour for talking Marcelo into getting him that nitrous oxide engine, if you remember.”

 

Sergio leant forward in his chair, clearly interested. “No, I don't. You seem to have _forgotten_ to tell me.”

 

Iker took a look at his shit-eating grin. Disgusting. “And you wonder why.”

 

Before the bickering could continue, the waiter appeared next to their table. “Hey, guys.”

 

Iker's voice was soft when he returned the greeting. “Hey, Cesc.” (Sergio just laughed.)

 

Cesc granted them a nervous smile. “What can I get you?”

 

“The usual. And you could do us a favour.” Iker patted the seat next to him. “We have a question for you.”

 

“Okay.” Cesc took a look around the diner, but his uncle was nowhere to be seen, so he sank down onto the edge of the chair. “How can I help you?”

 

“My brother and I would like to improve our shooting skills, but we lack the appropriate equipment. And we kind of hoped you could recommend someone.”

 

For a moment, Cesc just frowned, but then his expression brightened suddenly. “Oh! You mean... Yeah, I still have connections if that's what you're asking. Uh... sorry, of course that's what you're asking.” He scribbled an address down onto his notepad and pushed the slip of paper across the table. “Just tell him I sent you. Oh, and that you're supporting Real. I bet he'll give you anything you want just to spite me.”

 

“Cesc! You're not paid to schmooze with your friends!”

 

Cesc stood with an apologetic shrug and a last smile directed at Iker. “Coming, Tío!”

 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sergio burst out laughing. “Oh my, he's got it _so_ bad!”

 

“Shut up.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Sergio frowned as he looked up the face of the redbrick building that looked like any other in this street – that is to say, apart from their front gardens. There seemed to be some kind of gardening competition going on, with everyone trying to outdo their neighbours with how big and colourful a bush they could grow. He shook his head. Ridiculous. When he cast Iker a sidelong glance, he saw that he was checking the address on Cesc's note once again to be sure. He could tell that his brother was just as bewildered as he was. Never a good sign.

 

So he cleared his throat and tried for a cheerful voice. “Asking won't hurt, eh?”

 

Iker nodded absently, still eyeing the street sign and the house number, so Sergio took it upon himself to knock at the brightly coloured door. Nothing. He was just about to knock again, when the door swung open to reveal a young man in black dress pants, a Nosferatu shirt and a wild mop of dark curls. Sergio couldn't help but stare openly at him.

 

The guy raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

 

Iker cleared his throat. “Cesc sent us.”

 

The eyebrows stayed where they were. “Aha. You Barça dorks, too?”

 

“No.” Iker drew the word out longer than necessary in his wonder. Cesc had been right. “Real.”

 

And in an instant, the guy's whole demeanour changed. He laughed and opened the door wider, beckoning them forward. “Well, if that's the case, then welcome to David's lair!” He closed the door behind them and waved impatiently. “Follow me.”

 

As they trailed behind him, Sergio couldn't suppress a whisper of 'Creepy...!' under his breath as he kept an eye out for anything that could serve as a weapon in case the weird arms dealer was planning on murdering them in his cellar – which turned out to be his showroom. The brothers exchanged a wide-eyed look of wonder and their eyes filled with childish glee as they examined the weapons lining the walls.

 

The arms dealer turned to them. “So, what've you got?”

 

Iker handed him the bag with the things Sergio had taken off the Russians and the brothers waited with bated breath as he checked the guns and the money. After a minute, he grinned at them. “Be my guest.” He waved a hand around and made for the door. “Call me when you're finished.”

 

As soon as the door had fallen shut behind him, the brothers shared a high five and identical Cheshire cat grins. “Now that was surprisingly easy,” Sergio crowed. “Remind me to thank Cesc next time we go to the diner!”

 

Iker released a low snort. “He'll think you've banged your head somewhere.”

 

Sergio pouted at him. “Come on, it's just my way of checking him out for you. If he can't handle me, he isn't worth your attention anyway.”

 

“Shut up.” Iker turned to the weapons on display, before his brother could really get going about him and Cesc. That was a topic he preferred to discuss with no one but himself. “First of all, we need some rope.”

 

“Some _what?!”_

 

“Rope.” Iker looked up from the two guns with a silencer he had just set down on the table in the middle of the cellar. That look clearly said 'What, are you stupid?'. “You never know. We might need it.”

 

“For what? Tell me one thing we might need a rope for.”

 

“Sergio, I said you never know. That means that you don't know until you need it.”

 

“Dear brother,” Sergio sighed as he heaped his weapons onto the table. “This isn't a movie.”

 

Iker raised an eyebrow and pushed the guns that were identical to his out of the way to reveal a large knife underneath. “Yeah. If you say so, Rambo...”

 

Sergio groaned and rolled his eyes. “Alright. Get your stupid fucking rope!”

 

“I'll get my stupid rope! But if we end up using it, I tell you, you'll never hear the end of it!”

 

“Yeah, yeah...”

 

As they rummaged around the shelves for the proper ammunition for their guns, a thought Iker had pushed to the back of his mind suddenly resurfaced. “Sergio?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What is going on between you and that cop?”

 

“What cop?”

 

Iker heaved an exasperated sigh. “Cut the crap, Sese! You do realize that he's going to be the one to hunt us down if we pull through with our plan tonight, right?”

 

Sergio tried to laugh it off with questionable success. “Yeah, I know. It's not like he's the only hot man on this planet.”

 

“Sese...” Iker rounded the table and looped an arm around his brother's shoulders. “I don't want you to get hurt. Just... be careful, okay?”

 

“Okay.” When Iker raised an eyebrow, he raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“You'll still have me.”

 

“That's exactly what I feared.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“This is madness.”

 

Doc wore the same expression of disappointment he had displayed when Sergio had shattered one of the windows of the convent down the street with a football three years ago. It prompted him to sink deeper into the cushions of the couch, but Iker wasn't to be deterred. “Doc... we're on a holy mission.”

 

Doc huffed. “That's what the Blues Brothers said. And where did they end up singing their Jailhouse Rock? A clue: the answer is already in there.” He went over to his desk and retrieved a newspaper. “Besides, the press obviously knew before you did.”

 

Iker quickly scanned the cover. It was an article about the two Russians in the backyard, and the assailants were praised as – here, he stopped short – saints. Sergio leant over his shoulder to read along and couldn't hold back a bout of laughter.

 

“How about that!”

 

Under Doc's stormy glare, he quickly stopped. “Boys... please... what do you think this will achieve?”

 

“Doc...” The expression on Iker's face was absolutely serious, and there was a fire in his eyes that told the old bartender that there would be no stopping him. “Every night, you turn on the news, and what do you see? You see rapists, murderers and child molesters – they're all getting out of prison. Or some Mafia scum, getting caught with 20 kilos, and then walking free on bail the same day! And everyone thinks the same: just kill those bastards!”

 

For a moment, there was a heavy silence reigning in the office, before Sergio's quiet and uncharacteristically sombre voice broke it again. “Haven't you thought about it, too, Doc?”

 

The bartender raked a hand over his face. He knew he had lost. “Just... take care, boys. Alright?”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Fernando had seen a lot in all the years he'd been doing this job now, and there were a few really gory crime scenes that he would like to erase the memory of, but this... He sucked in a breath as he entered the penthouse suite of the Copley Plaza Hotel. Great.

 

It seemed like he hadn't hid his frown quickly enough, for Detective Alonso shot him a sympathetic look. “This is a slaughterhouse.”

 

Fernando pulled a hand through his hair and nodded. Indeed. There was blood splattered everywhere. Several men lay on the ground or on the couches, with their arms crossed over their chests and pennies covering their eyes. It looked like they didn't have much of a chance, dying right where they sat. A surprise attack. Interesting.

 

“How many bodies, Reina?”

 

“Uh, eight. No, wait! I forget the one behind the couch! Nine!” He hesitated. “Nine?”

 

“So... I guess this calls for a round of coffee.”

 

Detective Reina groaned, but trudged out of the room nonetheless. “Fucking shit...!”

 

Fernando suppressed a smile. Progress. “Alonso? Any theories?”

 

“Yes. Forget all these other guys.” He waved a hand around the room before pointing to the man lying at his feet, right in the centre of the room. “This was their target.”

 

“And what do you base this upon?”

 

“Well, he was the only one done right. Two bullets to the back of his head.”

 

So far, so good. “And the pennies?”

 

“Maybe a new hitman? Leaving his mark?”

 

Fernando hummed. “Possible, yes. I'm glad neither of your theories deal with abnormally sized men.” He ignored the exchange of looks between Alonso and Gerrard. “However, it's possible that they were placed there with religious intent.”

 

Alonso's face lit up. “Right! There are still some cultures that put pennies in the eyes of the dead. The Italians, the Greeks, Sicilians...”

 

That's when Detective Gerrard decided to join the brainstorming. “So, what's the symbology there?”

 

“Symbology?” Fernando sighed. Are you kidding me? “Now that we were finally getting somewhere... The word you were looking for was symbolism.”

 

Gerrard cleared his throat, but didn't bat an eyelid. “So, what's the symbolism there?”

 

“In Greek or in Roman mythology, you had to pay the boatman, Charon, so he would ferry you across the Styx to the gates of judgement. If you couldn't pay, you would be left to wander the shores of that river for a hundred years.” He waited until Gerrard nodded to show he understood. “Okay, now that this is settled, let's have a look at the main target.”

 

Fernando pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket as he knelt down next to the stoutly built victim in an expensive satin suit. Just like the other bodies, he had his arms crossed over his chest, but he was the only one arranged in an outstretched position on the floor. If it hadn't been for the bloody holes where his eyes used to be, it almost looked as if he were merely sleeping. Taking a deep breath, Fernando took a careful hold of the victim's head and lifted it off the ground in order to take a look at the bullet holes at the back.

 

Detective Alonso crouched down next to him, so he gently turned the man's head for him to see. “Look at these burns. That means silencers were used. And these entry and exit wounds-” Alonso leant forward to get a better look, while Gerrard and the returned Reina kept their distance with a grimace. “-they're almost identical. So, the bullets went in here through the skullcap, crisscrossed, and exited through his eyes.” He sat back on his heels, pondering these facts. “That tells us three facts about how it went down. What do you think, Alonso?”

 

The detective pretended he was holding guns and stretched his arms out in front of him. “They shot him at a downward angle. That means... he had to kneel down?”

 

An approving grin spread on Fernando's face. “Exactly. Reina?”

 

“Uhm...”

 

Hopeless. “It was the only proper execution. That means he definitely was the last to die. Which confirms your theory, Alonso, that he was the main target. Right, last one. Gerrard?”

 

Detective Gerrard performed the same motions as Alonso, moving his arms around as if he were holding two guns. “There were two shooters.”

 

Alonso and Reina locked eyes and simultaneously opened their mouths to voice their confusion, but Fernando didn't let them. “Imagine what happened. Two men made the victim kneel down, put a gun to his head and voilà, we get the result you see here.”

 

Gerrard cleared his throat. “What about one shooter with two guns?”

 

Fernando shook his head. “No, the angles are too extreme. Someone holding two guns would shoot straight ahead. He wouldn't stick his elbows out, would he? Besides, I highly doubt that one shooter would be able to take them all by surprise and kill them without getting killed himself. No...” He pulled the latex gloves off. “There were at least two.”

 

_Sergio curses softly as he feels sweat pool on his brow beneath the black mask he is wearing. He promises to himself that he won't let his brother make the plan next time. Crawling through some fucking air shafts. He groans when the rope he has slung over one shoulder digs into his skin through his jumper. He's going to kill his brother when they make it out of here alive. Emphasis on when, seeing that his brother who is leading the way has stopped at a cross-way, looking left and right as if he isn't sure where to go._

 

_Sergio groans again. Perfect. “Fuck, Iker, do you even know where you're going?”_

 

“ _Hush! There are voices.”_

 

_Sergio doesn't hear anything. “For fuck's sake! I'm going to melt into a miserable puddle here, dragging your stupid rope around!”_

 

_Iker crawls backwards until he can poke his brother in the shoulder. “Get a grip! You have to focus!”_

 

“ _Focus?”_

 

“ _Yes, this isn't a game!”_

 

_Sergio shoves Iker in the shoulder. Hard. “I'm not the one who should focus! You fucking idiot lost your way!”_

 

_His brother growls and smacks him up the head with his flashlight, and in an instant, there is a shoving match going on in the middle of the narrow air shaft. They keep pushing at each other, hissing profanities and threats under their breath – right until the shaft starts shaking and the metal joints make a high creaking sound. The brothers freeze immediately, but it is too late. Sergio can only breathe a 'Jesus fucking Christ!' before the shaft gives way and they fall right through the ceiling into the penthouse suite._

 

_With a hard jerk at their legs, their upside-down descent comes to an abrupt halt in mid-air as they get stuck on the tangled rope which has caught somewhere in the shaft above, and both the brothers don't waste any time with wonder. They draw their guns and open fire at the men surrounding them, killing them before they have a chance to reach for their own weapons. When there's only the boss left, cowering beneath them on the floor with his hands over his head, Sergio pulls his knife from its sheath at his belt, sliding it across the rope, and they drop to the floor with a suppressed grunt._

 

_As Iker pulls the man up into a kneeling position, he whimpers and reaches out with his hands to try and placate them. “Please, don't kill me! I'll give you money, loads of it!”_

 

_Sergio gives him a grim smile, baring all of his teeth. “Reconsider your words before you're going to face the Lord.”_

 

_The man keeps pleading, slipping into Russian half way through in his panic, but the brothers don't pay him any heed. Instead, they raise their guns to the back of his head, side by side, and bow their heads for a last prayer._

 

“ _And shepherds we shall be,_

_for Thee, my Lord, for Thee._

_Power hath descended forth from Thy hand,_

_that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command._

_So we shall flow a river forth to Thee_

_and teeming with souls shall it ever be._

_In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”_

 

_And then they pull the trigger._

 

Fernando frowned as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling and the piece of rope dangling from the edge. This had to be a joke. “Television,” he murmured.

 

Alonso looked up from his clipboard with confusion written all over his face. “Pardon?”

 

Fernando huffed. “This is like some bad TV show, isn't it? Crawling through air shafts, dropping through the ceiling... Who does things like that in real life? I assure you, professionals sure as hell don't!”

 

_Sergio can't contain a giddy grin as he looks around. “Now that went well!”_

 

_Iker grins right back. “Iker,” he mimicks his brother's voice in a high tone. “Tell me one thing we're gonna need a fucking rope for!”_

 

“ _Pff!” Sergio slaps his shoulder. “Alright, alright! I got it!”_

 

“ _Damn, we're good...” Iker takes a look around the hotel room. “Now, what do you think is in that bag?”_

 

_Sergio turns to follow Iker's pointed finger to the counter of the bar in the corner. “Let's have a look, shall we?”_

 

_He takes a step forward, but Iker catches him around the waist and spins him around before racing up the few steps to the counter ahead of him and pulling open the black leather suitcase sitting there. It's filled, to the brim, with money._

 

“ _Holy fuck!”_

 

“ _Well spoken, brother.” Iker shuts it again and tucks it under his arm. “Let's get out of here!”_

 

With a sigh, Fernando moved over to the bar. “I need a drink.”

 

He poured three glasses of whiskey and handed them out to the detectives before he allowed himself a mouthful right out of the bottle. Taking a moment to appreciate the clearing effect of the alcohol burning its way down his throat, he strummed his fingers against the counter, trying to make sense of the situation. Gerrard, Alonso and Reina all looked at him, waiting for him to speak. They knew by now he already had a theory up his sleeve, and that thought almost made Fernando smile. Progress indeed.

 

“Listen, guys. These men are all part of the Russian Mafia. But not like those two from the alley, they were just small fish. All of the victims in here are either syndicate bosses or underbosses – the head of the snake, so to speak.”

 

Gerrard cleared his throat. “What do you think is happening?”

 

“Well... since the fall of the Iron Curtain, the Russians have been growing stronger each year, and the Spaniards don't like that. They've been eyeing the doings of the Russians from the beginning and now that they're threatening to take over... why not wipe them out? So, what you see here might be the beginning of an international Mafia war right under our noses.” He ignored their uneasy glances and rested his head on his arms on the counter. “Unless I totally missed something.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you lovely people for reading! <3


	4. Chapter 4

— † —

 

 

“Hey, guys.”

 

Iker looked up from the newspaper article he was reading and tried to ignore the faces his brother was making at him behind Cesc's back. “Hi, Cesc. The usual, please.”

 

Cesc nodded and moved to turn away from their table, but then curiosity got the better of him and he leant forward to see what Iker had been reading. The header said 'Largest multiple murder in Boston's history!'. “Oh! The detectives responsible for that case are friends with Tío. Came in after closing last night, drowning the images in alcohol.”

 

Sergio laughed loudly. “And you eavesdropped? You naughty boy!”

 

Cesc blushed and Iker glared. “It's not like they talked about anything interesting, apart from the crime scene.” A grin spread on his face. “Most of the time, they just kept whingeing about their new boss. Seems to be a real good one too, though. Didn't catch his name.”

 

Sergio immediately sobered up, his voice dropping to a murmur. “His name is Fernando Torres.”

 

Iker spread out the newspaper. “Here.” He pointed to a picture of the agent at the press conference. “This is him.”

 

Cesc's grin immediately died on his lips, his eyes widening. “Is he from Madrid?”

 

Sergio looked up to frown at him in suspicion. “Yes. Why...?”

 

Cesc suddenly looked uncomfortable. “It's a long story.” He bit his lip and glanced at his uncle behind the counter. “Tío? I'm going to take my break early, okay?” When his uncle waved his consent, he dropped into the free chair at their table. “I know him from before, from my not so glorious days.”

 

Iker nodded carefully. He knew that Cesc didn't like to talk about his criminal past. “Personally?”

 

Cesc shook his head and leant forward when a family suddenly entered the otherwise empty diner and exchanged greetings with his uncle. “No. You see, we all knew him back then, because the boss feared him, even though he was still so young for an agent. That fear wasn't for nothing, either. Three years ago, he directed an operation with the objective of putting the whole upper tier of the Madrid syndicate behind bars within one day. And he succeeded – they all got sentenced, big time. Well, except one – only known as Leo. He didn't even get a trial, because he never got caught. Anyway... the NYC branch had to go into hiding, at least for a while, and I managed to slink off to Boston. He saved me, you could say, without knowing it.” He smiled ruefully, caught up in his memories. “On the downside, he had to leave the country. Rumour has it that this Leo guy had vowed revenge or shit like that. Spanish soil just wasn't safe for him anymore.”

 

He looked up at the brothers, but they were just staring at him with wide eyes as they tried to process this new piece of information, so he just shrugged and continued in a low voice. “I just wish he'd support the guys from the Copley Plaza case instead of trying to bring them to justice, you know?” Another shrug. “I prefer their idea of justice anyway.”

 

Sergio shared a look with his brother, and when Iker gave him a nod, he turned back to Cesc. “So... you don't think that the Spanish Mafia tried to eliminate a rival?”

 

Cesc shook his head. “No, that's not what I heard.”

 

Sergio blinked at him. “And what did you hear?”

 

“That none of the syndicates in the city, no matter the nationality, ordered that homicide. So it's either one from another city – which is highly unlikely, someone would've heard – or it's someone entirely separate from them. Someone independent.”

 

Sergio once again looked at his brother, but this time the silent exchange took longer than a second. Cesc watched the brothers with growing curiosity, the expressions on their faces betraying nothing. And yet, it seemed they reached an understanding nonetheless, because Sergio suddenly leant back in his chair and raised his hands in defeat.

 

“Whatever,” he said, his tone clipped.

 

Cesc turned from him to Iker. “What?”

 

Iker locked eyes with him, and Cesc immediately felt pinned. Oh, this couldn't be good. “What if I told you that you could join in on this campaign of justice?”

 

For a long moment, Cesc wasn't able to react in his surprise, but then he sank back in his chair, a gentle smile spreading on his face. “I knew it was you.” At the shocked intake of breath by the brothers, he shook his head, still smiling. “Come on. The fact that you ask me out of the blue for the address of an arms dealer that works under the radar. The fact that the rope and the bullet calibre you bought appear at the crime scene. The fact that I know you two take religion seriously, which explains the pennies. It wasn't really that hard to tell.”

 

Iker felt his throat clog up, but he forced himself to speak. (Sergio just looked about ready to throttle Cesc.) “Who else knows?”

 

“No one. Just me.” His voice turned soft then. “I'd never sell you out. Not when I think you're doing the right thing.”

 

“So...” Sergio, back to his cocky self in the blink of an eye, leant forward and flashed him a toothy smile. “That means you're in?”

 

“Yes, I'm in. And I know just the right person to start with.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

“This doesn't make any sense,” Fernando muttered as he stared down at the latest victims. They were short and brawny men, drug dealers and nothing more than thugs, really. Simply not worth the expensive bullets of a professional. Two of them had been shot repeatedly in the chest, the third however... Fernando moved over to the cupboard, pulling a hand through his hair as he looked down at the body. “This is ridiculous...”

 

_Iker regards the stairs leading down to the basement flat with a frown on his face. It is impossible to say how many people are in there, as there are no windows. They just have to trust Cesc's word that there are always three of them, carelessly packaging the white death as if it were some fucking curry. And then trying to sell it at the high school around the corner. Cesc had shown them some pictures he had taken – the pictures he had been planning on leaking to the police before he decided to follow their path of justice instead._

 

_And now he's sitting next to Iker in some wet and dirty bushes, ready to do justice himself. Iker turns to Cesc to give last instructions, but pauses when he catches sight of his trembling shoulders and hears the weird choking sounds he makes._

 

“ _Cesc, are you alright?”_

 

_Cesc waves his concern aside, but when Iker raises an eyebrow at him, he can't suppress it any longer – laughter, Iker realizes with a groan. “What is it? What's so funny?”_

 

_It takes a few seconds for Cesc to calm down enough to speak. “I just thought that you look like some kind of dark and broody superhero with that mask and those guns.”_

 

“ _Really?” A playful tone enters his voice, he can't help it. “Like who?”_

 

“ _Like... uh... Bruce Wayne?”_

 

“ _Oh, come on. Last time I checked, my mask didn't have ears.”_

 

“ _Would you two just get on with it and fuck already?”_

 

_Iker gives a start when Sergio's voice suddenly echoes in their ears, but recovers immediately as a pang of irritation courses through him. “Shut up!” He turns to Cesc and shrugs, glad that he can't see his face right now. “I'm sorry. My brother is-”_

 

“ _A genius? Billionaire? Playboy? Philanthropist?”_

 

“ _-neither of those. He's just a plain jerk.”_

 

_Sergio heaves a dramatic sigh, quickly followed by his typical boyish laughter. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. The show must go on, ladies.”_

 

_With a sigh of his own, Iker turns back to the basement stairs. Right. The show._

 

“Sir?”

 

Fernando was startled out of his thoughts by Alonso's gentle and worried voice, and he realized he must have stared at the victim for far longer than he intended to. He took a deep breath before he shook his head to clear his mind. He had a job to do, as fucked up as it was. “Well, what do you think?”

 

The detectives moved over to stand next to him, and for a moment, all four of them looked down at the dealer in silence, at a clear loss for words. But then Gerrard decided to give it a go. “Maybe... a message?”

 

_The door hits the wall with a loud bang as Iker and Cesc storm the run-down flat, barrelling down the hall and into the living room where they find only two of the drug dealers. The leader is missing, Cesc realizes with a curse._

 

“ _Where is he?” When none of them answer in their shellshocked state, Iker decides to drop one of them before he trains his weapons on the other. “Well?”_

 

_With a shaky hand, the man points to the wall-closet, and all Iker can think is 'Are you fucking serious?!'. He doesn't pay any heed to the sounds of Cesc taking out the other dealer as he takes a step towards the cupboard – before a sudden thought crosses his mind. What if the dealer has a gun and is aiming at them through the door? He motions for Cesc to move over to one side of the room as he sidles over to the other, his guns never straying from their target._

 

“ _I think you should come out now,” he says in a loud and clear voice._

 

“ _No.” The dealer's voice comes out muffled and petulant. Like a child's._

 

_It's a ridiculous situation, even more so as Sergio's excited 'What is it? What is happening?' is ringing in their ears, and Iker decides that he is too old to play these games. “Fine, if you don't want to come out, we'll make you,” he says and aims at the bottom of the closet before pulling the trigger._

 

_He prepares himself for a yelp, a curse, the dealer tumbling out of the door holding his foot – something other than the dull thud that echoes in the cupboard. Exchanging a confused glance with Cesc, he slowly and silently moves forward towards the door before pulling it open and aiming inside. He immediately takes a baffled step back, his arms falling back to his sides._

 

“ _What is it?” Cesc appears next to him, a snort escaping him when he catches sight of the body. “Well, that's what I call a perfect shot.”_

 

“This is ridiculous,” Fernando repeated as he looked at the hole in the door, then at the bloody hole in the temple of the victim and the pennies gleaming in his eyes. “This doesn't make any sense.”

 

Gerrard cleared his throat. “It could have been an execution, too.”

 

“No.” Fernando shook his head. “He had a gun, he would've used it to defend himself.”

 

“Suicide?”

 

“But why in a _cupboard?!_ And why not at least try to escape if someone was after him? Also, you seem to forget that there's a bullet hole in the door.”

 

“Maybe the assailant didn't want to kill him?”

 

Fernando hummed. “That's possible. But his death was definitely on the agenda.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “God, this case is doing my head in. First the Russians. Then these guys with connections to the Spanish Mafia. That means our theory just fell apart.”

 

Reina held up a hand as if he were in school. “What if it was some kind of Russian vendetta?”

 

“No, no, no...” Fernando moved on to knead his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. Great. “Too quick, too sloppy. Besides, they wouldn't have chosen to kill just a few street rats instead of going for the big guys. It's like a warning bell. 'Here we come!'? No.”

 

Alonso plopped down onto one of chairs surrounding the table in the middle of the room. “I can't think anymore. Today's been far too long already.”

 

“Yeah,” Gerrard agreed. “What's wrong with this day? First this shit in here and then that poor sucker in that back alley a few blocks down.”

 

Fernando's head snapped to him at his words. “What sucker?”

 

_Iker grins. “That's what I call pure luck.” He points a finger to the ceiling before digging around in his pocket for the pennies. “Here, quick. And then we're going to-”_

 

“ _Guys?”_

 

_Iker immediately decides that he doesn't like the tone of Sergio's voice. “What? What is it?”_

 

“ _Some guy is approaching the house. Looks like he – fuck! He's seen me!”_

 

“ _Sergio!”_

 

“ _I'm gonna get him! Don't worry!”_

 

“ _Wait!”_

 

_Static is his only answer. “Jesus Christ...”_

 

“Why wasn't I informed?”

 

Alonso squirmed in his chair when a particularly nasty death glare hit him. “Well, uh... that homicide wasn't related. The victim was stabbed, not shot. No pennies, either.”

 

All three detectives jumped when Fernando suddenly threw up his hands and barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, this is just perfect! The whole criminal undergrowth of quiet city Boston starts dropping like flies and you masterminds think it's unrelated!”

 

“We thought-”

 

“No one is doing the thinking for me, Alonso, understood?!”

 

“Yes, sir,” the detective muttered, his voice barely audible.

 

Fernando almost felt bad, but immediately pushed the feeling aside. Being in charge wasn't a cakewalk after all. “I'm out of here. Now, gentlemen,  _please_ call me when the next one dies, because I can assure you – these guys are  _not_ done yet!”

 

As soon as he was out of the basement, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There were moments – they are rare, but they happen – where he hated his job. And there were moments – even rarer – where he was lost. The fact that he was wishing for a vacation and the fact that he didn't know what to do told him that he needed help.

 

So he slowly walked the two blocks to the edge of the Boston Common and stretched himself out on an abandoned park bench, his mind running a mile a minute, trying to find the piece of the puzzle he was missing. He leant back until he could rest his head against the cold wood, his eyes staring up into the low cloud cover of the night sky, illuminated by the numerous lights of the city.

 

Heaving a sigh, he fished for the phone in his pocket and dialled the number he still knew by heart. After about half a minute of ringing, the issue of different time zones suddenly entered his mind, but just as he was about to hang up again, someone on the other side suddenly picked up.

 

“Mata?”

 

Fernando winced. He did sound pretty tired. “Hey, Juan. Sorry, I didn't think about the time difference.”

 

“Ah. Hey, stranger.” He yawned. “Well, the fact that you're calling in the middle of the night and the fact that you forget to think about something tells me you must be desperate. Besides, it's not like you to call your old partner of three years out of the blue unless there's a case you need to talk about.”

 

There was a hint of reproach ringing in that statement, and Fernando knew he deserved it. “I'm sorry. This case has been a nightmare from the start, and I just... you know I can't let go once I've started.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Juan's voice already sounded more amiable. “So, tell me about that case. I wanna catch as much sleep as I can, you know?”

 

“Yes, sorry.”

 

“You said that already.”

 

Fernando smiled faintly. Trust Juan to make him feel better just by being the same old Juan. He took a minute to put his thoughts in order and then he told his former partner everything that had happened. The Russians in the hotel room. The Spaniards in the basement. The drug dealer, lying in a back alley, his blood seeping into the two kilos of cocaine he had been carrying around. He told him about the pennies, the arm-crossing and the weird television-like approaches of the killers. And last but not least, he admitted that the only connection he could see was that the victims were all men that had made themselves at home on the wrong side of the law.

 

“That's... thin.”

 

Fernando groaned. “Yeah, exactly. I know there is some greater scheme going on, but I _just can't see it!_ It's driving me crazy!”

 

“And they've only been after criminals? No innocents were harmed?”

 

“Yes, at least so far.” There was only silence for a few long seconds, and Fernando suddenly knew Juan was gearing up for something he didn't know how to phrase – ergo, something Fernando wouldn't like. “Just spit it out. I thought you wanted to sleep?”

 

“Smartass.”

 

The grin was evident in his voice and Fernando almost sighed as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Good old times. “Seriously, just say it.”

 

“Okay. Don't worry. My line is secure.” Fernando frowned at that. What the hell was Juan on about? “Remember what you said to me during the trials? When they almost got away?”

 

Ah. “Yes, 'I wish they'd never see the light of day again!'. But I fail to see why you're bringing this up.”

 

Juan released a soft laugh. “You're a smart man, Nando. You know exactly why I'm bringing this up. These guys are doing the job you want to do, but can't.”

 

Fernando returned the laugh, but it sounded fake and bitter to his own ears. “Juan, that's ridiculous.”

 

“Think about it, Nando. I'm not saying you should lean back and let them roam all over town, but I think you mustn't let this case get to you, either. They're clearing out the low life in your pretty city. That's less work for you and your guys.”

 

“Oh, don't get me started on them.”

 

“You're trying to change the subject. Don't you think I've forgotten how to see right through you.”

 

“For that to be the case, you would've been required to learn how to do so in the first place.” Juan chuckled and Fernando suddenly realized how much he missed him. “Thank you, Juan.”

 

“My pleasure, Nando.”

 

“No, seriously. Thank you. I'll... think about what you said.”

 

“Good.” Juan chuckled again. “As in good night.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Fernando. “Alright. Good night, Juan.”

 

“Next time, call me right away, you mental wreck.”

 

And with that, he hang up. Fernando smiled to himself and shook his head. Juan was one of a kind. But then his smile fell as he thought about his words. If he didn't want the assailants to be caught so they could continue on their killing spree, maybe it would be best to hand over the case to someone else. Maybe he should stop trying to fool himself.

 

Fernando, however, was indeed a smart man, and if anyone would be able to fool him, it was himself.

 

 

— † —

 

 

As always, thank you for reading! :]


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read, left kudos and wrote comments so far! You make my day and I hope this chapter will also be to your liking. It contains my favourite scene from the movie. :]

— † —

 

 

“So, David told me-”

 

“You mean our arms dealer David?”

 

“Yes. He told me about a runner of the Spanish syndicate he's friends with. You see, they sent him to pick up some guy with the order to do as he says. So he drives him to a family house up in Back Bay. The guy goes in, wipes out the entire family and makes the runner help him drag the bodies to the Dumpster out back where he burns them.” Cesc waved his hands about as he retold the story. “The bastard's hosting a poker tournament with his buddies from the Spanish Mafia every Tuesday, in Beacon Hill. And I think we should...”

 

Sergio tried to ignore Iker's stare as he listened to Cesc chattering about his next target of choice. He was used to that look after all – that look that said 'You reek of trouble. What did you do this time?'. He even accepted it without protest most of the time, for he knew he was prone to stumble into all kinds of trouble with his eyes wide open.

 

This time, however, he hadn't done anything wrong, and it riled him up that his brother still used that blasted look on him, like they were still little children and Iker had to take him by the hand. After a few minutes, he couldn't take it anymore. So he held up a hand to apologize to Cesc who was in mid-sentence and turned to his brother with a fierce glare.

 

“Spit it out and let's get this over with!”

 

Iker wasn't perturbed. Curse that bloody calm composure of his! “Are you sure no one saw you?”

 

Sergio threw up his hands as Cesc ducked his head, anticipating a nasty spat between the brothers. “For fuck's sake, Iker! I told you, I pounced on him in that dark and godforsaken back alley _so no one would see me!_ I swear, no one was there and no one saw me!”

 

Iker was just getting ready to shoot back a not so friendly reply when the door to the bar opened and he visibly swallowed the words back down. “Are you sure?,” he whispered instead, his face turning pale. “Because it looks like someone did.”

 

Sergio frowned and turned around, but froze halfway when he caught sight of Fernando Torres sidling up to the bar and smiling shyly at Doc behind the counter. Although his heart was stumbling in his chest and speeding up at the same time, he tried to smile at the agent when their eyes locked across the taproom. And surprisingly, the smile was returned.

 

They watched, baffled, as Agent Torres slowly settled into one of the barstools and exchanged a few words with Doc. Sergio raised an eyebrow at the bartender and made a 'What?!' gesture with his hands, but he just shook his head, barely, and retrieved a glass from the shelf.

 

“Here,” Doc muttered as he set a tumbler containing his best whiskey down in front of the agent. “On the house.”

 

Fernando started. “Oh, I couldn't-”

 

“Son,” the bartender interrupted in a gentle voice. “Come now, make an old man happy. Besides, you look like you need it.”

 

“Oh.” Fernando slumped in his chair. “In that case, thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

Doc sent him one last encouraging smile, before he picked up a dishcloth and wandered over to the table of the brothers, seemingly to clear away their empty glasses. “Calm down, boys,” he mumbled. “Consider yourself lucky that he's too distressed to notice your gaping at him!”

 

When he moved to walk over to the next table, Iker held him back. “What does he want?”

 

“Just a drink. And I'm not one to deny anyone a drink who so desperately needs it.”

 

Sergio leant forward, his eyes sad. “You said he was distressed?”

 

Doc sighed. “Yes. And I think you know damn well why.”

 

And with that, he pulled his elbow free from Iker's grasp and continued on his way. Sergio frowned and looked back to the agent at the bar, taking in his weary posture and his tense shoulders. Before he knew it, he was standing and walking over to him, ignoring the nervous whispering of Iker and Cesc behind his back. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he slid into the barstool next to Fernando with slow movements, giving the agent the chance to send him away if he didn't care for company. He didn't take it, though.

 

“Hello,” Fernando murmured, his hands fidgeting with the glass of whiskey. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I just...” He glared at the tumbler when words seemed to fail him. “I just needed a drink. I'll be gone when it's finished.”

 

Sergio felt guilt gnaw away at his stomach as he listened to the tired voice of the usually eloquent man. The case – their case – seemed to eat him up from the inside out. And he was to blame. “You're welcome here, Agent Torres. Any time. We owe you our freedom.”

 

Fernando regarded his uncharacteristically serious expression with a lopsided smile. “I don't want to intrude.”

 

Sergio shook his head. “It isn't intruding if the people you seem to intrude on want you to stay.”

 

“So do you want me to stay?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They shared a chuckle, and Sergio was struck by the need to pull the agent into his arms, to run a hand down his back and whisper words of comfort into his ear. To distract himself, he leant over the counter and fished for a glass and the whiskey bottle still standing there. “So,” he drew the word out as he focused on pouring himself a glass. “Why did you need a drink, if I may ask?”

 

For a moment, Fernando's face darkened and Sergio feared he had been too forward again, but then his expression relaxed. “You asked me once why I ended up in Boston. Do you remember?”

 

Sergio tensed up immediately as the memory of Cesc's story caught up with him. However, Fernando was indeed too distressed to notice, so he sent a quick thanks heavenward and forced himself to relax. “Yes, I remember. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

 

“Thank you, but... I think it's about time I talked to someone about it.”

 

A warm feeling of pride spread in Sergio's chest, but he quickly smothered it. “I'm listening.”

 

Fernando sent him a quick and grateful smile before he focused on his glass again, peering into the liquid as if it could give him all the answers he needed. “I would've never left Madrid if it hadn't been a matter of life and death.” He released an amused snort at his own word choice. “You see, I was already a part of the organized crime task force back then. I had been working on a project for two years when it was finally put into action. And it was an enormous success, but in my young and foolish and impatient need to see it through to the end, I underestimated the danger behind it. The danger to my own life.”

 

He stopped, a flash of immense pain crossing his face as his memories overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily onto the counter. Sergio watched, helpless, wondering how long he had been bottling up those memories, pushing on without ever facing the demons haunting him. Slowly, he reached out and pressed his fingertips to Fernando's knee, a silent prompt to go on.

 

Fernando smiled faintly as he felt the warmth from Sergio's skin seeping through his dress pants. He exhaled slowly and forced himself to continue. “I had to leave everything behind. My life, my family... even my last name.”

 

Sergio couldn't help it. “I like your new name. It suits you.”

 

Fernando opened his eyes and regarded him with a tiny spark of amusement in his gaze. “Well, that doesn't mean you can't use the old one.”

 

“Alright. Fernando.” He smiled, pleased at the feeling of the name rolling across his tongue. “Would you do it again?”

 

Fernando thought about it for a few moments. “Yes. Yes, I would.” He sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. “I just... I miss everyone. My parents, my siblings, my old partner, the city... I miss everything about Madrid.”

 

“Even Real?”

 

“Yes, even that obnoxious attempt at a football club.”

 

Sergio crossed his arms, faking a pout. “Hey!”

 

Fernando laughed at him, but it soon turned into a stifled yawn. “Sorry, long day.”

 

“No worries. Off to bed then, Agent Fernando.”

 

“Yes, dad.” Fernando rolled his eyes at him and tipped back the last drop of his whiskey. When he turned back to Sergio, his gaze was serious. “Thank you for listening, Sergio. I appreciate it.”

 

“Any time.”

 

“No, seriously. Maybe I can return the favour someday.”

 

“Maybe.” For a long moment, they just smiled at each other. And then, out of the blue, Sergio leant forward and, catching Fernando's face in his hands, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “God bless you.”

 

And with that, he got up and disappeared through the back door. Fernando stared after him, stunned, before he looked around the bar to check if anyone had noticed. He immediately met Iker's eyes. Sergio's brother was looking at him intently, with a frown on his face and his mouth in a tight line, so Fernando quickly gathered up his coat and, with a small wave to Doc, retreated out the door.

 

As soon as the agent was gone, Iker leapt out of his chair and crossed the bar with a few steps. Cesc's worried gaze followed him as he chased after his brother. The young waiter didn't know what exactly was going on between Sergio and Agent Torres, but it couldn't be good. Just like Iker, he had stolen quick glances at the exchange at the bar, wondering what exactly they were talking about. Their body language seemed strangely relaxed around each other, as if they were particularly close. Cesc knew, however, that they had met only two weeks ago, and that seemed a particularly short time span to be growing so close. He sighed and let his head sink down onto the table. He had his own drama to deal with.

 

Iker found his brother on the bottom step of the stairs to the office, with his head hung low and his hands covering his mouth. “Sese?” When he didn't get a reply, he cautiously moved forward until he could kneel down next to his brother. “Sese... what happened?”

 

Sergio looked up at him then, and Iker almost flinched when the storm of emotions in his eyes hit him. “I almost made a mistake.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Three weeks. Three bloody weeks and still not a single clue. The city was in an uproar – the criminal part at least. The general public, on the other hand, was suspiciously quiet, pretending they didn't read the newspaper, brimming with news about the latest murder of people connected to the dark side of town. They were probably glad someone cleared up their streets, Fernando mused as he lay his head down onto his crossed arms on the table, watching the only footage of the assailants they had. And from a shaky surveillance camera no less.

 

He had watched it ten times already, and even though he knew it by heart by now, he kept watching it over and over again. There wasn't much to see, really. A meeting of representatives of the Italian syndicate, debating about how to stop the wave of death rolling through their city. And then three men crashing in through the door, wearing black masks and guns with silencers. Taking down the men in the room without getting hit once themselves. Then a prayer, the arm-crossing, the pennies. And then they were gone. In and out.

 

It was absolutely ridiculous, Fernando thought as he hit the rewind button. Why the hell did it look so goddamn easy to barge into a heavily fortified building, guarded by at least ten mobsters, to take down their targets and to leave without any trace for him to follow? The three assailants definitely weren't professionals, he had known that from the start, but their amateurish approach should have lead to a bullet to the head by now. It hadn't, though. They either were the luckiest people on this planet or... well, there was no other option. They were just lucky.

 

But Fernando wasn't sure how long they would be able to hold on to Fortuna if they kept going about their rampage with the level of finesse they were currently stuck on. He watched the video again, shaking his head as he zoomed in on the masks. He had nothing – no hair colour, no facial features, just plain nothing. Not even the colour of their skin. Groaning, he buried his head in the crook of his elbow.

 

Thank God for Doc's tapas bar. Like a moth to the flame, he'd been drawn back to the homely pub after he'd felt like tearing his hair out at the crime scene. He couldn't sleep anyway right after staring at the empty faces of dead men, facts and variables running riot in his head, and he'd found he preferred a drink or two in the quiet company of the old bartender to restless hours of roaming the streets of nightly Boston.

 

_He can hear the sound of a guitar even before he opens the door. It's strange, he thinks, he has never heard someone play here, as Doc prefers some low radio music in the background to live bands. As soon as he enters, he's hit with the smell and sound of a packed pub, the scent of alcohol lingering in the air and people murmuring between themselves. For a moment, he's unsure if he should stay or not, but then his roaming eyes find the guitar player sitting at the bar. It's Sergio._

 

_Fernando is immediately struck by the gentle hold he has on the guitar, by the long strands of hair that fall over his shoulders whenever he leans forward to look at the fingerboard, and by his half-closed eyes as he's lost in the music, lost to anything else that's happening around him. All of a sudden, someone moves past him to the door and the agent snaps out of his daze, embarrassed. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't get attached to people he will likely meet again at the wrong end of an interrogation table._

 

_Just as he is about to turn around and go back the way he came, Sergio's wandering gaze finds him, and both of them pause. However, before it can fully register with Sergio who he's looking at, Fernando is already gone. He hails a cab, and once he's home, he goes straight to bed and tries to convince himself that sleep is all he needs._

 

“Sir?”

 

Alonso. Fernando groaned again. “No. Go away.”

 

“There's no point in starving. Pepe got you a cup of coffee and a bagel.”

 

Fernando raised his head and peered at the detective standing in the doorway. “Of his own free will? You sure there's no poison in there?”

 

Alonso laughed and moved over to put his charge down onto the table. “Positive. He may not show it, but he respects your work. We all do.”

 

“Thank you.” Fernando picked at the paper cup with a sullen expression on his face. “Though I fail to see why you should respect me for failing at every turn this case is taking.”

 

Alonso shook his head and settled into a chair. “You're doing your best. That's all that can be asked of you.”

 

“To be honest, I don't even know if I'm actually doing my best.”

 

“That's a problem we all have to face.” He looked over at the screen still showing the footage of the surveillance camera. “I think you should quit watching this video. We've analysed everything we can about it.”

 

“I just...” Fernando got up and paced back and forth for a few seconds. “I've got the feeling that I'm missing something. The way they move... I think I've seen them before.”

 

“That's because you wish you had.”

 

Fernando sighed. “Maybe.”

 

Alonso stood and walked up to him to place a hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me, but Fernando-” He paused to gauge Fernando's reaction to the trespass of boundaries, but his boss just raised an amused eyebrow. “-you should head home early today. We'll call you right away if something happens.”

 

For a split second, Fernando looked like he might protest, but then he nodded in defeat. “Thank you. I'll think about-”

 

“Xab? Boss?”

 

Xabi turned to face his partner. “What is it, Pep?”

 

Fernando, however, had already read the news in his expression, and his gut sank. “Where?”

 

Pepe exhaled in a rush. “Beacon Hill.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

In broad daylight. Fernando couldn't believe it. In broad fucking daylight. And they couldn't have done it nice and quiet and easy – no, they just _had to_ shoot up the whole neighbourhood while they were at it. He pulled a hand through his hair in frustration as he trailed the extent of destruction. Two cars on the opposite side of the road, covered in bullet holes. The street itself, covered in bullet casings, glass shards from the car windows and – here, he paused – six discarded guns. Interesting. It seemed like the killers had finally experienced a backlash from their preferred prey.

 

He wandered up the driveway, taking in the apocalyptic state of the front porch. It was covered in bullet casings – the usual calibre of the assailants, in contrast to those in the street – as well as bullet holes and blood. A lot of blood. Enough for a proper sample, thank God.

 

He turned to Alonso – Xabi, he corrected himself in his mind. “How did they get in?”

 

_Iker motions for Cesc to follow him as he creeps up the steps of the patio at the back of the house. The door to the kitchen is wide open – most likely for the little Beagle puppy that has happily sniffed Iker's boots as he climbed over the fence into the garden. He can't really believe how easy it is to get in. Again. And then a sudden creaking sound makes him spin around to Cesc, but the young waiter just holds his hands up in apology before pointing down to the old floorboards of the patio._

 

“ _Honey? Did you forget something?”_

 

_Iker jumps forward just in time to intercept the target's wife's way into the kitchen, quickly overpowering her struggling form. With two quick steps, Cesc appears next to him with duct tape in his hands. He covers her mouth with it and takes over Iker's iron grip on her wrists. Together, they manhandle her down the steps of the terrace and across the garden to the door of the summerhouse where Sergio is already waiting._

 

_Iker leans down to hiss into her ear. “Enter the code and we won't have to hurt you.”_

 

_The woman shakes her head, even as tears streak down her face. But then Sergio takes a sudden step forward, with his arm drawn back as if he's preparing to strike out at her, and she immediately cowers and nods her head. Cesc releases one of her wrists, as Iker glares at Sergio who answers with a shrug as if saying 'It worked, didn't it?', and the woman shakily enters the code._

 

“Did they harm her?”

 

Xabi shook his head. “No. The medics think they used a taser on her. She doesn't remember anything after entering the code.”

 

Fernando hummed. “Okay, everything according to plan so far. The men in here definitely didn't see them coming.” He looked down at the five bodies surrounding the poker table, their arms crossed and their eyes covered with pennies as usual. The sixth victim, however, lay in the corner of the room, with blood splattered across his face from the bullet to the head he had received. A balled-up towel lay next to him. All of them had connections to the Spanish Mafia. No surprise there. “Still, something clearly went wrong.”

 

“ _Well done, gentlemen,” Iker says as he lowers his guns. “Five thugs less to fear.”_

 

_Sergio nods. “That guy sure knew where to put his dirty money,” he murmurs as he leans down to sniff at the expensive content of one of the six wine glasses on the table. Wait... six? “Uh, guys...!”_

 

_Iker walks over to him to ask what is wrong, but he is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door hitting the wall. The brothers spin around with their guns held high and come face to face with the last remaining participant of the poker tournament. Almost face to face, that is, as he is pressed against Cesc's back, using him as a shield. Cesc is tearing at the furled towel the man has tightly wrapped around his throat, but he is no match for the mobster and his strength is draining quickly._

 

“ _Drop your weapons and slide them over!”_

 

_Sergio hesitates for a second, but it only takes a look at Cesc's face rapidly changing colour and he immediately bends down to deliver his guns. Iker follows right after, and that leaves Cesc to be the only one not willing to give in – in a last attempt at freeing himself, he brings the heel of his boot down onto the man's foot. The thug gives a shout, but doesn't release his captive. He is, however, distracted for a moment as he struggles to regain control, and Iker shoots back up from his kneeling position to deliver a bullet to his forearm._

 

_With a scream, the man lets go of Cesc who crumbles down to the ground in a heap. Both the brothers jump forward, and Sergio gathers Cesc up into his arms and hurries a few steps back to evade the danger zone. He needn't have worried, though, as the man kneeling on the ground and clutching his bleeding arm is solely focused on Iker, who is looming over him with a murderous expression on his face._

 

“ _You will be punished.”_

 

_Iker slowly raises his gun. “No, you will.”_

 

“They somehow managed to pull through, unscathed. Then they finished up and left the house through the front door.” Fernando trailed the path through the house to the front porch. “Their first mistake, and almost their last. They had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side: six men with their guns drawn.”

 

Gerrard followed Fernando's gaze to the six guns lying in the street. “And once again, they were able to avoid ending up dead.”

 

Fernando nodded absently. “It's a mystery to me. I mean, how on Earth did they manage to stay alive? They were outnumbered, almost out of bullets and already tired from the fight in the summerhouse. How is it that they shoot up the whole neighbourhood with six against three and none of them drops dead?”

 

“Maybe one of them did, and they took the body.”

 

“No... The others would've kept fighting. This should have ended with one of the groups completely wiped out, because all of them were out to kill.” Fernando pulled a hand through his hair. “It just doesn't add up.”

 

_Sergio is leading their little band towards the front door, but he keeps throwing concerned glances over his shoulder at Iker who is supporting a still dizzy Cesc down the hall. He doesn't respond to Iker's soft whispers of encouragement as he focuses on staying upright, but his pace is becoming stronger with every step he takes. For now, that's enough for Iker, although he knows that the experience of almost losing him will haunt his dreams for a while to come._

 

_He's so lost in his thoughts that he almost runs straight into Sergio's back who has stopped dead in his tracks on the front porch. Iker raises his head and immediately spots the man standing right in the middle of the street. He's wearing a black trench coat and dark sunglasses, and staring right at them. And then, everything happens at once. The man draws two guns from the holsters strapped across his chest and aims at them, while Sergio opens fire at the same time. Iker quickly leans Cesc against the door frame and reaches for his own guns._

 

_He doesn't know how long they keep shooting at each other. He also doesn't know when Cesc joined in the shooting or when Sergio fell to his knees after a bullet hit his upper arm. There's a hissing noise in his ear, and a strangely isolated thought appears at the forefront of his mind: Why is none of them dead yet? He has barely finished that question in his head when a piercing pain in his thigh snaps him back to reality._

 

_With wide eyes, he can only watch as their attacker flees down the road, clutching his shoulder, leaving them bleeding and cursing on the front porch. “Everyone okay?,” he shouts. His brother just nods at him, clearly shaken, blood oozing through the hand he has pressed against the wound. “Here.” He tosses a spray can into his lap. “Get the blood, quick!”_

 

_He looks around for Cesc, finding him cowering on the doorstep, cradling his left hand against his chest. “Cesc? You okay?”_

 

_Cesc's head snaps up at him. “Fuck no!” He thrusts out his hand for Iker to see. “He shot my fucking finger off!”_

 

_Iker immediately turns pale. Indeed, the little finger on Cesc's left hand is missing. “Fuck,” he whispers, horrified. However, as sorry as he feels for the young man, the leader in him refuses to show it before they're all safe. “Get up, we have to get out of here!” He ignores Cesc's stormy grimace of pain and anger. “Sergio, are you done with the blood?”_

 

“I guess we'll just have to wait for the results on the blood samples.” Speaking of which... Fernando looked over at the forensic scientist who was staring at the blood smears with a puzzled expression. “What's the matter?”

 

“I can't get a good sample.”

 

Fernando frowned and leant forward to take a closer look at the drops of blood. They looked fine to him. He shrugged and moved to straighten up, and that's when the scent hit him. “Fuck,” he whispered and spun around to face the detectives. “They used ammonia! That means we can't use any of this!”

 

Shocked by his sudden outburst, the trio stepped back as none of them wanted to be near him when he finally threw the tantrum they had all been anticipating a while ago. Angrily muttering to himself, Fernando jumped off the porch and paced up and down between the bushes lining the house. He just couldn't believe that they had been had by those amateurs. Again!

 

“Are you for real?,” he shouted up at the sky as he planted his hands on his hips. “Are you trying to tell me something? Is this a sign?”

 

All of a sudden, his exhaustion caught up with him and he sank down into a crouch. What a fucking nightmare. For a few moments, he just sat there, trying to calm himself down. When he felt he was once again in control of his emotions, he moved to get up. But then his eyes caught on something that didn't belong into a front garden. A finger.

 

Pulling a latex glove from his pocket, he carefully wrapped up the digit before putting it back. He slowly looked up and scanned the detectives and police officers wandering the crime scene. None of them was looking at him. Perfect. He stood, ignored the worried glances of the detectives and went home without another word.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you for coming back! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, we're finally going to leave the path of the movie. Just to warn you in advance. ;)

— † —

 

 

Doc couldn't hold back a weary sigh as he climbed the stairs to his flat. He had known that the boys' holy mission would blow up in their faces sooner or later. But did anyone listen to the bartender? No, of course not, no one ever did. They were lucky to be alive, all three of them. It was nothing short of a miracle, but he doubted that they could pull the same stunt twice. This madness had to stop.

 

He found them exactly like he had left them. Sergio curled up in the armchair, his face blank and his eyes unseeing as he fidgeted with the rosary wrapped around his wrist. Cesc and Iker occupying the couch, not quite touching, but almost. And even though Doc was still angry at them for paying no heed to his warning words, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by a deep-rooted sadness as he took in their broken expressions. They were more asleep than awake when he finally stepped forward to enter the living room, exhausted from the gruesome experience of trying to remove bullets without proper medical training. And yet, all three of them sat up immediately.

 

“Well?”

 

Doc sank down onto the edge of the coffee table. “Burnt to the ground. There's nothing left but the police rummaging through the ruins.”

 

Cesc's eyes filled with tears. “And David?”

 

Doc shrugged and averted his gaze. “No sign of him.”

 

Cesc's face crumbled and he hid it behind his hands as silent sobs shook his body. Iker slowly moved over to him and pulled him into his arms. “Well,” he muttered darkly. “Looks like someone set us up.”

 

Sergio frowned. “You mean someone paid David to tell Cesc of that poker tournament?”

 

“Yes. Or used other means to make him do it. But whoever's behind it, he made sure David wouldn't be able to share his version of what happened. Looks like the syndicates are stepping up the revenge campaign. And at least one of them knows it's us.”

 

The dead silence following that statement was stifling and only occasionally broken by Cesc's quiet sniffling. There was a cross-way ahead, they knew, and it was either go on and risk running out of luck or stop in order to save their own lives. Lost deeply in their thoughts, they all jumped, startled, when Sergio suddenly shot out of his armchair.

 

For a moment, he stumbled, his mind dizzy from the heavy painkillers, but he quickly regained control of his body and headed towards the hall with determined steps. The others looked after him, puzzled, but when he shrugged into his jacket and slipped on his boots, Iker suddenly decided to intervene.

 

“Where are you going?” He didn't get an answer. And then, everything clicked into place. “You can't go to him, Sergio! What if you let something slip?”

 

Sergio didn't look at him as he paused at the door. “I just need fresh air.”

 

With a curse, Iker rose from the couch, leaning heavily onto the backrest for support. “Like hell you do! You bloody idiot will get us all behind bars!”

 

“Cut the drama, brother.”

 

That off-hand comment only made Iker angrier. And careless. “A stupid fling isn't worth the risk! What if he already knows it's us? What if he's only playing with you? You'll just end up being the fool who fell for it and we'll all be doomed!”

 

“Iker,” Doc called, his voice sharp. But the damage was already done.

 

Sergio slowly turned and fixed his brother with narrowed and dark eyes, his gaze burning with furious tears and the pain of betrayal. Cesc held his breath, afraid a full-on brawl was about to break out, and even Doc tensed up, ready to step between the brothers should the spat turn to violence.

 

Sergio, however, remained where he was, with his hand on the door handle. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, but deadly serious too. “Watch it, Iker.”

 

And then he was gone, the door falling shut behind him with a quiet click.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Fernando almost slipped off the cushions when the ringing of his phone startled him out of his involuntary nap on the couch. “If this isn't important, I swear...” An unfamiliar number. Great. “Torres?”

 

“Hey, this is Sergio.”

 

Fernando sat up, suddenly wide awake. For a moment, he wondered how Sergio had gotten his number, but then he remembered the calling card he had left in Mr. Martínez' care – and that Sergio was still waiting for an answer. “Oh, hey! How are you?”

 

There was only quiet breathing on the other side, and just when Fernando opened his mouth to repeat the question, Sergio spoke up again. “Are you busy? Because, you know...” He paused again, and all of a sudden, it hit Fernando how tired and weary he sounded.

 

“Do you need me to return that favour I promised?”

 

“Yes.” There was only undisguised relief in Sergio's voice. “Can I... come over?”

 

Fernando hesitated for a split second, years of looking over his shoulder ingrained in his mind. He hadn't allowed anyone into his home since moving to Boston, hadn't allowed anyone close. And yet, he couldn't find the strength to say no. “Of course. It's St. James Avenue, number 140.”

 

“Thank you,” Sergio's muttered. “I'll be there in twenty.”

 

Fernando took a quick look around the living room and the kitchenette – all in all, presentable, apart from the pile of files and crime scene pictures occupying the entire coffee table and half of the couch. With a sigh, he gathered them all up into his arms and carried them over into his adjoining office, dropping them down onto his already crammed desk. Never mind, closing the door would do. He barely had time to change from his crumpled suit into a shirt and a pair of track pants before his doorbell rang.

 

He took a deep breath – seriously, wasn't he a grown man? – and pulled the door open with a smile. It immediately flickered and died when he caught sight of Sergio on the other side, who looked dead on his feet. “Hey,” Fernando said quietly and motioned for him to enter. “Come in.”

 

“Thank you,” Sergio murmured, and his hollow voice made Fernando frown.

 

The young man before him had nothing in common with the Sergio he had come to know. His long hair, usually flowing freely about his shoulders, was up in a messy ponytail, while his face was uncharacteristically pale. His eyes, however, were the worst – they may as well belong to a complete stranger as they scanned his living room. Instead of the curious and vibrant eyes he remembered to be full of mischief, Fernando met the weary and guarded gaze of a man that had seen way too much pain in a far too short amount of time.

 

“What happened?,” he prompted. “Is it Iker?”

 

Sergio grimaced and shook his head. He seemed to think better of it half-way through, though, and it quickly turned into a nod. “We had a fight.” When Fernando's eyes filled with sympathy, he quickly avoided his gaze. “I just... ran.”

 

Fernando watched him push his hands into his pockets, curling in on himself as he waited for – well, for what, the agent didn't know. The only thing he knew for sure was that whatever had happened between the brothers had to be of epic proportions for Sergio to look so unlike himself – awkward, unsure and utterly lost. Anger reared its head deep down in his heart, anger at Iker for reducing his brother to the shell of a man that might shatter like glass if handled without care.

 

“Sergio...,” he said quietly, his voice soft.

 

Sergio's eyes snapped to his, and they were filled to the brim with hope and pain in equal measure. Fuck Iker, Fernando thought as he took two quick steps forward and enveloped him in his arms – that guy could glare all he wanted for all he cared. It took a second for Sergio to recover from the unexpected embrace, but then he pulled his hands free from his pockets and returned it so tightly it hurt. Fernando breathed a silent sigh of relief. For a moment, he'd been afraid he'd gone too far.

 

They stood like that for a long while, Sergio fighting for the control of his composure, his breath coming quick and laboured against Fernando's chest as the agent held him close, one of his hands resting on the small of his back while the other kept running gently over his hair. When Sergio finally quieted down, his tense muscles relaxing under his fingertips, Fernando loosened the embrace. “Better?”

 

Sergio nodded slowly and took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

 

Fernando chuckled quietly. “For what?”

 

Sergio pulled back to look him in the eye, his face serious and his forehead creased in a frown. He seemed to search for something in Fernando's eyes, and whatever it was, he obviously found it, because his gaze suddenly turned from insecure to intensely determined. And then, out of the blue, he leant forward to press his lips against Fernando's.

 

Fernando could only stand stock-still as he inhaled quickly through his nose in shock, but just as Sergio moved to retreat, his grip on Sergio's neck tightened, preventing him from pulling back too soon. The kiss immediately changed pace, as all the tension that had built up between them since they had met finally eased up. Fernando's hands moved freely over Sergio's back and his shoulders before finally coming to rest on his upper arms to pull him even closer.

 

Instead of melting into him, however, Sergio immediately ripped his head back, a shout of pain escaping him as he tumbled out of Fernando's reach. The intoxicating whirl of joy and warmth in his chest quickly turned to ice as he stared at Sergio, dumbfounded. “What...?”

 

“I'm sorry,” Sergio croaked, his chest heaving as he pressed a hand to his upper arm. “An accident at work.”

 

“Oh God, I'm sorry.” Fernando had to resist the urge to smooth down his shirt in a rare nervous gesture. “Did I... are you okay?”

 

Sergio nodded slowly. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

 

Fernando watched as he swayed in his spot, his eyelids drooping. “You don't look fine.”

 

Sergio didn't answer, and it was only Fernando's quick reflexes that saved him from crashing head-first into the floor as his knees buckled without warning. Fernando's own legs immediately folded beneath him as he suddenly had to support Sergio's whole weight and he met the ground with a loud groan. He took a moment to regain his breath before he adjusted the man in his arms so he could look at his face.

 

“Sergio...?”

 

Fernando lightly tapped his cheek and Sergio had to blink a few times before his eyes suddenly focused on him. “Oh...”

 

“Yeah. Oh.” Fernando couldn't help a lopsided smile. “I think we should put you to bed. Can you stand?”

 

Sergio inhaled deeply as he thought about it for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

With hindsight, Fernando was hard-pressed to recall exactly how they had managed to move Sergio over to the bedroom _and_ to get him out of his jeans and sweater. The man was simply exhausted to the point were he couldn't even hold his eyes open through the whole process. He was out like a light before Fernando had even pulled the covers over his body.

 

The agent remained seated on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, allowing himself the luxury of watching Sergio relax into sleep as the tension drained from his features. He suddenly looked so young, and fragile, once again as if he were made of glass.

 

Fernando was so lost in his observations that he almost jumped when a sudden thought entered his mind. After dragging himself home from the crime scene in Beacon Hill, he had been bent on checking the fingerprint of the little finger he had found next to the front porch. But he had taken that unscheduled nap instead, and then Sergio had called. Sergio... He once again focused on his face. Absolutely and entirely asleep. Good. Fernando was dying to know who the finger belonged to.

 

So he carefully rose and tiptoed across his living room to the kitchenette, where he retrieved the plastic bag with the finger from the freezer, and then back over to his office. One last look at his bedroom. Still unmoving. Perfect. He left the door ajar, just in case, and rummaged around the chaos on his desk for his ink pad. His hands shook as he pulled on latex gloves and went on to make a fingerprint which he fed into the register. It didn't take long for the computer to come up with a result.

 

“Come on, come on,” Fernando whispered as he waited for the picture to load, his breath quickening in anticipation. He was _so close._ When the match materialized on his screen, he quickly scanned the data. A runner for the Spanish syndicate in New York... too young and too low in the hierarchy to be sentenced... missing since the Madrid operation... reappeared in Boston, Fernando thought darkly, and apparently guilty of wiping out more than half of the criminal population of this town.

 

He peered more closely at the face on the screen, and all of a sudden, he just _knew_ that he had seen the young man before. And not too long ago. But where? He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair, recalling the last few weeks. The police station, the crime scenes, walks across the Boston Common, the diners he had frequented, the bars... the _bars!_ Fernando's eyes snapped back open as his quick mind put the whole puzzle together. There was a reason he knew the way the assailants moved. Because he knew _them._

 

Cesc Fàbregas. Iker. Sergio.

 

Everything fit. He had finally solved the case. And God, how he wished he hadn't.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! :]


	7. Chapter 7

— † —

 

 

“Mata?”

 

“Juan! I found out who... God, this is so fucked up! And I don't know what do do! You have to-”

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Juan chuckled. “One at a time, Nando. You found out who did what?”

 

“Juan, use your brain,” Fernando hissed, his voice shaking as he tried to keep calm. “I found out who killed all those mobsters. I solved the case!”

 

“So? Congrats! What's the problem? And why the hell are you whispering?!”

 

“Because one of them is in my house!”

 

There was a second of silence. Then “WHAT?!”

 

“Shh, Juan!”

 

Juan wasn't to be deterred. “What the hell are you waiting for then?! Hang up and arrest the guy!”

 

“I...” There was a pause where Juan could perfectly picture Fernando pulling a hand through his hair. “It's complicated.”

 

“Oh, I get it. It's because you want them to go on, don't you?”

 

“No. Yes. God, that's only part of it. Remember how I told you a few days ago about that guy I met?”

 

“The one you liked? Yeah, how could I forget about that! It's about time you-” Juan took a quick breath as it dawned on him what Fernando was implying. “No... really?! It's _him?”_

 

“Yeah.” Fernando sounded absolutely miserable. “Together with his brother and a friend.”

 

“Holy shit...”

 

“Exactly. I just don't know what to do.”

 

“Oh Nando... you really do like him, eh?”

 

Fernando walked over to the door and pulled it open a few inches, just enough for him to see Sergio sleeping in his bed. A surge of warmth spread in his chest at the sight and he let his head fall forward against the door frame. “Yes.”

 

“And does he like you back for you? Or for the fact that you're investigating his case?”

 

Fernando pondered over that for a minute. “I think... I think he really does like me. There's no point in attracting attention to himself otherwise. It would serve him better to stay away from me.”

 

Juan heaved a sigh. “Man, this is really fucked up. It's like you two idiots are Romeo and Juliet.”

 

“Juan...”

 

“Alright, alright. Does anyone else know?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then here's my verdict: go for the guy. Don't tell anyone what you've found out. If he's a shitty boyfriend, you can still turn him in.”

 

A short pause. “That sounds hilariously easy.”

 

“Well, I don't hear you laughing,” Juan deadpanned. “It is that easy, Nando. You want them to continue? You want that guy? Then do something about it. It's about time you looked after yourself instead of obsessing over that Mafia scum all the time.”

 

Fernando was silent for a few moments as he thought about Juan's words. It just sounded _so easy._ He really wanted them to keep clearing the streets, to do what he himself couldn't. And he really wanted Sergio. “What would I do without you?”

 

“Cry your eyes out because the world is so unfair to you.”

 

“Sometimes I hate you.”

 

“And sometimes you love me, I get it. By the way, who do you think you are in this case? Romeo or Juliet?”

 

Fernando simply hang up. He shook his head, but couldn't hold back a smile. Juan was his best friend and very dear to him, but even though he held his views and opinions in high regard... that guy couldn't be sensitive even if his life depended on it. Absolutely no tact whatsoever.

 

For a while, he just stood there, watching Sergio through the crack in the door, mulling over Juan's words. There was no doubt as to what he wanted, but was he really ready to face the consequences? To betray his oath to protect and to serve for a fling born of lust? No, not lust. Fernando knew a deep-rooted affection was about to arise. A dangerous affection that could cost him everything. But then again, what was everything in his case?

 

He had no one here he was close to, too afraid to make them suffer like he had everyone he loved in Madrid. He had a job that had been his life, and that was gradually turning into a living hell as he found himself to be helpless against the forces of evil he had sworn to erase. With his existence being an empty shell, Sergio might be able to fill it again with the feeling of being alive Fernando so craved. It might even be fate.

 

Bullshit. He had never before believed in fate, he wouldn't start now. A man was made of his own actions, and he was about to change the course of his. For good or for bad. Quietly, but with determined steps, he put the finger back in the freezer before wandering over to his bedroom. Sergio was still fast asleep, and he didn't even stir when Fernando stretched himself out on the edge of the bed.

 

His fingers itched with the need to touch him, to make sure that this was really happening, that he was real. He knew he should phone his colleagues, call in a S.W.A.T. team, do _something._ Instead, he couldn't stop watching Sergio's beautiful and peaceful face. The face of a killer. Of a _Saint._ Deep down, he knew that the decision had been made, before Juan's verdict, even before this day. And when his fingertips finally connected with warm and smooth skin, it felt like he was touching his own downfall.

 

But then Sergio's eyes fluttered open and a lopsided smile spread on his face as soon as their eyes met, and Fernando forgot all about his doubts and the duty to this country. Right now, there was only one duty left – the one to himself. Just this once.

 

“Hey.” Sergio's voice was still rough from sleep and Fernando found himself automatically smiling back. “What are you doing out there?” He raised the covers and patted the mattress next to him. “C'mere.”

 

Fernando chuckled quietly and complied, settling beneath the covers. A sigh escaped him when Sergio immediately pulled him closer, the sleep-induced warmth of his body seeping through his cool clothes and soothing the roaring chaos in his gut.

 

“You're cold,” Sergio muttered and rubbed his arms gently.

 

Fernando moved to pull back his fingers. “Sorry.”

 

“Wait. Don't stop.” He smiled when Fernando shyly continued caressing his face, his eyes suddenly clear and wide awake. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Fernando tried a soothing smile, but found himself defenceless against Sergio's suspicious gaze. “I was just wondering... do you have anywhere to stay?”

 

For a moment, a shadow darkened Sergio's eyes as he was reminded of the fight between himself and his brother, but then he blinked and it was gone. “Yes, I'm crashing at a friend's house.” Fernando's inner battle about whether to ask him to stay or not must have shown on his face, because Sergio suddenly chuckled and shook his head. “It's fine, really. Better cover, anyway.”

 

“Is Iker still not okay with this?”

 

“I wish you wouldn't mention my brother while we're in bed together.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Fernando and then turned serious. “Can I... kiss you again?”

 

Fernando couldn't hold back a laugh. Out of Sergio's mouth, that sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Did you ever before feel the need to ask?”

 

“God forbid!” Sergio grimaced in a mock pout, but his trademark grin was shining through. “Only for you.”

 

“Then you may kiss me again.”

 

And just like the first they ever shared, this kiss quickly changed pace, growing heated and demanding within seconds. Their hands roamed freely, and when Fernando felt Sergio's fingers slipping beneath his shirt, the metal cross on his rosary whispering over his ribs, he couldn't hold back a startled gasp, because it felt _so fucking good_. But instead of urging him on, the sound made Sergio pull back until he hovered over Fernando, with his hair mussed up and two faint red spots covering his cheek bones. Fernando thought he looked absolutely delicious – his eyes, however, were hesitant.

 

“I'm sorry. Would you rather take it slow?”

 

“What?!” Fernando couldn't believe it. “No! I've waited long enough, so don't you dare stop!”

 

Sergio chuckled, the insecurity vanishing from his gaze, and reached down to pull Fernando's shirt over his head. And somehow, that one swift motion triggered the raw need in both of them to feel bare skin beneath their hands, and it didn't take long for them to get rid of any annoying piece of fabric. And once again, Fernando couldn't hold back a sigh when Sergio covered his body with his, his skin scorching hot against his own. God, it had been way too long.

 

“Wait,” he whispered. “I want to enjoy this for a moment.”

 

Sergio raised an eyebrow, but didn't move. “This isn't the best part yet, you know. I had something else in mind for you.”

 

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

 

Sergio leant forward until their noses almost touched. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

For a moment, Fernando could only stare up into his grinning face as his mouth went dry. In all his daydreams, he had never pictured Sergio as the passive kind of lover. “You sure?”

 

“Yes, absolutely. Only if you want to, of course.”

 

Sergio winked, but Fernando could see the insecurity resurfacing through his cocky exterior, so he quickly pulled Sergio down for a deep kiss. “I'd love to.”

 

“Good.” He winked and experimentally wiggled his hips, but Fernando stilled him again with a tightening of his arms around his waist, even though the motion tore a content sigh from his lips. “I didn't know you were a romantic at heart.”

 

Fernando smiled. “I'm not. I just want to commit this to memory.”

 

All the playfulness bled out of Sergio's expression. “Fernando.” He cradled his face in his hands so he couldn't avoid his gaze. “This isn't a one-off. I won't let you off the hook so easily, now that I finally have you.”

 

Fernando's face closed off for a second or two as he clamped down on the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, but then a bright grin took over. “In that case...” It was his turn to wiggle his hips and Sergio laughed, slipping a hand between their bodies to help the friction along. They kept shifting lazily against each other for a minute or two, the movement slow and deliberate, as were their kisses – until Sergio leant back with a wolfish smile.

 

“There's still more to commit to memory.” He watched a matching grin build slowly on Fernando's face. “Do you have-”

 

“Here.”

 

Fernando turned onto his side so he could reach over into the top drawer of his bedside table, a faint blush spreading on his face when it dawned on him that he couldn't even remember when he had used it last. Sergio, meanwhile, made use of the exposed stretch of pale skin beneath him and delivered a bite to Fernando's shoulder blade. The agent let out a sound that was half laughter, half curse and poked Sergio's ribs with the bottle of lube.

 

Sergio only stuck his tongue out at him and turned him onto his back to retrieve the condom and the lube from his hands. He let the rubber fall onto the bed next to them and took a hold of Fernando's hand to coat his fingers with the liquid.

 

Fernando's breath caught in his throat as he watched him rise to his knees and guide his hand between his legs, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin at the inside of his thighs. Sergio then leant forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Be gentle,” he said, his voice soft. “It's been a while.”

 

The silent 'Since I met you.' was hovering in the air between them and Fernando found himself smiling shyly. “Even longer for me.”

 

Sergio returned the smile, but it immediately slid off his face when Fernando carefully slipped a finger into him, only to be replaced by a look of awe. His head fell forward, prompting his long hair to pour over his shoulders and hide his face. Fernando frowned lightly and he used his free hand to tug the long strands back behind his ear before pulling him down to kiss him right on the mouth.

 

He could feel Sergio's breath quickening against his lips, and an unfamiliar feeling of heady power coursed through him as the usually strong and self-assured man fell apart above him. His own breathing picked up the pace as he watched the emotions flitter across Sergio's face, as he listened to the soft moans falling from his lips. He was startled out of his reverie when Sergio all of a sudden stilled, his eyes snapping open as his shoulders tensed.

 

Fernando immediately paused. “What is it?”

 

Sergio took a deep breath as he supported himself with shaking arms. “Do it now, or I won't make it.”

 

“Oh.” Fernando exhaled slowly. Now that was unexpected. “I thought you-”

 

“I swear, I'm usually not the quickfire type of guy, but this... this is just too much.” He looked like he wanted to add something else, but then he just shrugged and smiled, embarrassment written all over his face.

 

“It's okay. I understand.” Fernando slowly caressed his cheek. “I won't last long, either.”

 

He gently withdrew his fingers, trying to ignore the look of loss on Sergio's face, and reached for the rubber wrapper. However, with his fingers being covered in lube, he couldn't get a grip on the edge. Sergio sat back on Fernando's thighs as he watched his struggle, increasingly amused, until he once again became aware of the need and longing burning in his belly.

 

“You're such a loser,” he laughed and pulled the wrapper free from Fernando's hands.

 

Whatever witty remark the agent had prepared to deliver was lost when he felt Sergio's warm fingers on him. Instead, his breath caught in his throat and his hands automatically shot up to settle on his hips as his lover shifted to join their bodies. And when Sergio began to move, all coherent thought was lost to Fernando, until all he could do was sink back into the mattress and let him dictate the pace. It was so easy to get lost in the feeling of Sergio's skin against his, in the sound of the soft incoherent words falling from his lips, in the look of absolute bliss on his face. So easy to forget about the consequences.

 

“I'm...close...”

 

Fernando smiled at Sergio's words and, in a sudden rush of hunger for dominance, he quickly sat up, gathering his lover up into his lap. With their chests pressed tightly together, he could feel Sergio's heart beating frantically against his own. This feeling, combined with the abrupt change of angle, seemed to be enough to push Sergio over the edge, and he came with a breathy gasp that was smothered in Fernando's neck.

 

All the tension immediately drained from Sergio's body as he tried to catch his breath, and Fernando chose to take advantage of it as he spread his lover out on the bed and continued with a slow and deep pace that had Sergio seeing stars. “Please...,” he whispered. “Please...”

 

“Please what...?”

 

Sergio just shook his head, his hands clutching at Fernando's shoulders and his eyes tightly pressed shut. “Please... Nando...”

 

And that was it. Fernando wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions that coursed through him as Sergio unconsciously used his old nickname and his own emotions washed over him as he felt himself fall – fall long and deep into unknown territory.

 

 

— † —

 

 

“Iker?”

 

Iker looked up from the newspaper in his lap and found Cesc standing in the door frame, with his arms crossed and his face uncharacteristically serious. Oh oh. “Yes?”

 

“You should talk to him.”

 

Ah. That's how the land lies. “I tried.” Iker aimed for a nonchalant voice as he looked back down at the article he had been reading. “He doesn't answer his phone.”

 

“I know. That's why I went and found out where he's staying.”

 

Iker hummed, trying to give off uninterested vibes while he felt the old anger seething inside. “Fascinating.”

 

Cesc crossed his arms, frowning. “Stop that! You know that you need him. And I know that he needs you too, so – while you were sitting here, pouting and feeling sorry for yourself – I asked around a bit. He's staying with Marcelo, but he told me that Sergio's hardly ever there.”

 

A frown settled on Iker's face while he listened to his rant. He'd rarely seen Cesc so frustrated and angry, and he wondered if there was more to it than worry for the bond between himself and his brother. “Alright. I'm listening. What is he up to?”

 

“I followed him when he came back to Marcelo's for a change of clothes.” Cesc let his arms fall back to his sides, and he suddenly looked weary and defeated. “You won't like it.”

 

“How bad can it be?” Cesc didn't answer, and then it hit him. “No...”

 

“Iker-”

 

“No!” Iker shot up from the couch and pulled a hand through his hair. “I fucking warned him!”

 

“Iker...,” Cesc tried again, his voice soft. “Why won't you let him be happy?”

 

Iker barked out a bitter laugh. “Happy? This isn't about being happy or not being happy! It's about my idiot brother being driven by lust instead of common sense!”

 

“I don't think he'd risk it if it were just that.”

 

“You don't know my brother.”

 

Cesc smiled a sad smile. “Maybe I don't. But I do know what he's going through.” He didn't add the 'Do you?' that was burning on his tongue.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

I wish I had Sergio's courage. “Nothing.” Because you're too oblivious to see for yourself. “Forget I said anything.”

 

Iker couldn't shake off the feeling that something very important was slipping through his fingers like water and he wasn't able to see what it was before it was gone. “Cesc...”

 

Cesc shook his head to indicate it was useless and smiled that sad smile again. “So... are you going to talk to him?”

 

“No.” Iker sighed. If Cesc didn't want to talk about whatever was ailing him, he wouldn't make him. But that didn't mean it hurt any less to be shut out. “I'm going to have a talk with that Torres instead.”

 

“The 'stay away from my brother' or the 'hurt him and I'll kill you' talk?”

 

“Neither.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thanks for coming back! So... it finally happened. :D Hope you like it.


	8. Chapter 8

— † —

 

 

A secret is like a beast. At first, you might laugh at it as it nibbles at your fingers; then, when it has grown teeth, your laughter may turn into a scowl; and as soon as it has turned into a full-grown predator, you will try to keep it in a cage. But whatever you do, it will always find a way to hunt you down.

 

Fernando frowned when his mother's words suddenly jumped to the forefront of his mind – the words she had said to him on the day he had finally come out to her. He hadn't really understood what she meant then, he was only fourteen years old after all, but he understood now. He could feel the secret lurking in the shadows, prowling, waiting to pounce. And with each day he guarded it, it was growing more dangerous.

 

“Sergio?”

 

Sergio just hummed against his skin, not willing to give up his task of pressing a kiss to each of his ribs, and Fernando wished he could just enjoy it and forget about what he was going to say. It would most definitely put an end to whatever advances Sergio had in mind. With a heavy sigh, he caught his lover at the shoulders to stop his descend down his bare stomach.

 

“Sergio,” he repeated a bit louder.

 

Sergio looked up at him then, a confused frown marring his face. “What is it?”

 

Fernando took a deep breath, but it got stuck in his throat, and all the courage left him in a rush. “You have to talk to your brother.”

 

Sergio's face immediately closed off and he sat up next to him. “I don't have to do anything. I can live without him for-” He paused for a moment, and a flash of pain crossed his expression, but it was quickly smothered. “-some time.”

 

Fernando sat up as well, but kept his distance. Anger and hurt were rolling off his lover in waves and he was not prepared to draw this fire to himself. “I'm not saying that you have to forgive him for whatever happened between you, but this war of silent treatment can't go on.”

 

“Well, as far as I'm concerned-”

 

“Sergio, he came here today.”

 

All the rage and pain slipped from Sergio's face, to be replaced by bewilderment. “What?!”

 

“He came to talk to me.”

 

_Fernando opens the door with a smile, thinking Sergio might have forgotten something, but the affectionate greeting dies on his lips when he comes face to face with Iker instead. Inwardly, he sighs, because he has expected Sergio's brother to come and voice his objections way sooner, so he just about manages to hide his surprise._

 

“ _Come to meet your brotherly obligations?” When Iker's expression darkens, he hurries to add a smile. “But it's your right to pursue them any time you deem best, of course.” He opens the door and motions for Iker to enter. “Come in.”_

 

“ _So...” Iker pointedly ignores the chair offered to him. “You know why I'm here?”_

 

_Fernando leans back against the counter, the smile still playing at his lips, even though he's preparing himself for any possible outcome of this conversation – even violence. “Yes,” he replies eventually. “I can assure you that my intentions towards your brother are not malicious. Nor is there any hidden agenda.”_

 

“ _That's not it.”_

 

_Fernando raises an eyebrow. “It's not?”_

 

_Now it's Iker's turn to smile. It doesn't ease Fernando's nerves one bit. “No. I came here to warn you that the intentions of my brother towards you may not be so genuine.”_

 

“ _And how would you know?”_

 

“ _He's my brother.”_

 

_Although a thousand questions are whirling around his mind, Fernando settles for the good old 'Offence is the best defence.'. “Thank you, but I guess I'm a big boy. I can handle it.”_

 

“ _You sure? My brother is a handful.”_

 

“ _You don't say.”_

 

“That's it?” The hurt was back in Sergio's expression, as was something akin to jealousy. “No 'break my brother's heart and you die'?” When Fernando shook his head, Sergio flopped down onto the bed in a dramatic motion. “Why does he like you more than me?,” he mumbled into the pillow. “That's not fair. I'm his brother.”

 

That was such a Sergio-y thing to do, hiding his pain behind dramatic banter. Fernando chuckled quietly and lay down beside him before pulling him into his arms. Sergio went willingly, burying his face in his neck, and the agent decided to take it as a good sign. “I'm not so sure that's the case here, Sergio.” He chose not to point out that Iker's visit had nothing to do with fondness, but was an attempt at trying to eliminate an apparent threat to his cause. “Just... talk to him, okay? At least think about it. You can't ignore each other forever.”

 

“Okay. Whatever.” Sergio yawned and snuggled deeper into Fernando's embrace. “Did he say anything else?”

 

_Iker laughs and shakes his head. “In that case, I'm glad someone else will look after him for once.”_

 

_The words trigger a train of thought in Fernando's mind that he has been mulling over for days, and as he watches Iker turn to the door and open his mouth to presumably excuse himself, he comes to a decision that will either make or break everything. It's now or never._

 

“ _Listen,” he forces out past his clogged up throat. “I know it's you.”_

 

_Iker blinks, startled. “You know that I'm what?”_

 

“ _I know that you're the Mafia killers.”_

 

_There's a long moment of deafening silence, and then Iker turns to him with a murderous look on his face. Fernando takes a quick step back, raising his hands to placate him. “Please, hear me out. It's not-”_

 

“ _I knew it,” Iker hisses as he takes another menacing step forward. “No hidden agenda, my ass! What the hell is your game?!”_

 

_Fernando tries to keep calm, tries to take deep breaths, but his lungs are failing him as his heart beats frantically in his chest. “There is no game.”_

 

_With a snarl, Iker suddenly jumps forward and grabs the agent by the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward until they are nose to nose. “Then what is this all about?”_

 

“ _Iker,” he inadvertently uses his given name, and Iker responds with a growl. He bangs Fernando's head against the kitchen cabinet, causing bright spots to cloud his vision. “I want to help,” he manages to wheeze out._

 

_Iker's grip on his collar loosens in his surprise, but he doesn't step back. For a long moment, both of them just catch their breath and Fernando squeezes his eyes shut, feeling sick. But then he can feel Iker let go of his shirt and he reopens his eyes to find his unreadable gaze on him._

 

“ _You are a smart man, Mr. Torres. I'm not sure I can trust you.”_

 

_Fernando exhales in a rush and slides down the counter to sit on the floor. “I know.” He pulls a hand through his hair. “I know.”_

 

_Iker is silent and still for a while, but then he lowers himself down onto the ground to sit next to him, his back leaning against the fridge. All of a sudden, he looks as weary and tired and unsure as Fernando feels. “Why?”_

 

“ _Why I want to help you?”_

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“ _Because... as you put it, I am a smart man. And I know that I can't do my job the way I want to. There are way too many loopholes around for that vermin to slink through. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of them getting away with barely a slap to their wrists.”_

 

“ _So you'd rather see them dead?”_

 

_Fernando takes a few seconds to think about it. It's the ultimate question, the one he has asked himself so many times before. The one he has been too afraid to answer. But he is tired of lying to himself. He looks up at Iker, and his face is serious and his eyes are dark and determined. “Yes, I'd rather see them dead.”_

 

_Iker studies him with an equally dark gaze, but then he seems to reach a decision. “I need to speak to the others first.”_

 

“ _Please don't tell your brother,” Fernando mutters._

 

“ _What?”_

 

_Fernando clears his throat. “Please don't tell your brother.” He avoids his gaze, doesn't want to look at the frown on Iker's face. “I want to tell him myself.”_

 

_A pause. “You love him.”_

 

_It isn't a question, but Fernando answers anyway. “Yes, I think I do.”_

 

_Once again, there is silence as they are both lost in their own thoughts. Fernando can feel Iker's gaze on him, analysing him, judging him. But then Iker nods and pulls himself to his feet. “Alright. Deal.” He offers his hand to pull Fernando up, and the agent cautiously accepts it. “I'll call you before we make our next move.”_

 

I'm sorry, mamá. I'm sorry, but I can't be brave. Not yet. “No,” Fernando said quietly as he tightened his embrace on Sergio. “He said nothing else.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

If asked if there had ever been a period of not speaking to one another between his brother and himself as long as this, Iker would be forced to answer that he couldn't remember. They'd always been close. They simply had to be, what with their mother being left to tend to them on her own, with their decision to leave the ridiculously hopeless Spanish job market behind, with their struggles of adapting to a new and entirely different culture.

 

Sure, it hadn't been their first fight. There had been others, many of them more violent than this war of two-way ignorance, and many of them had been, in fact, about Sergio's careless habit of sleeping around and taking life as one big amusement park. However, none of them had lasted this long – and none of them had hurt more.

 

It was quite ironic, in a way, that this particular argument had taken place because his brother had finally decided to settle and make his own decisions instead of living in the moment without any care for the consequences – this time, though, the consequences might be fatal. Iker would never admit it, but the fact that his brother had chosen a man he barely knew, a man that could get them all arrested for the rest of their days in the blink of an eye, over _him_... that had hurt. A lot.

 

He had seen the way Sergio was gravitating towards the agent right from the start, but he had believed this infatuation to be exactly that – an infatuation. A simple need to get what he couldn't have, what was unattainable for guys from the streets like them. Even if they were Saints from the streets. But it didn't take long for him to realize that the looks Agent Torres sent his brother had changed from amused to interested, and then, as the agent began to show up at the bar more and more often, from interested to affectionate. That's when he knew the battle had been lost from the beginning.

 

And then the argument that had been boiling beneath the surface for days, and even weeks really, had exploded in his face. The incident with the assassin had left them all shaken, for they had been roused from a dream in the cruellest way possible, barely pulling through with their lives intact. Their numerous battle wounds apart, the blow to their hearts and minds had proved to be more harmful, though, and it had pushed his brother to a desperate attempt to ground his life before it fell apart. And instead of reaching out to him, Iker had pushed him away.

 

He was so very grateful that Fernando had held his brother together when he himself could not, that Fernando had given Sergio a reason to pull through the aftermath of almost losing his life. And yet, he didn't trust the agent. Not yet. If he abided by his side of the deal, keeping the authorities off their track, he would prove to be a powerful ally. However, if he chose to bring them down, it would take him a simple phone call, and they were gone.

 

But the look on his face when he said he loved his brother... Unconsciously raising a hand to touch the rosary resting beneath his sweater, Iker sighed and leant his head against the window he had been staring out of for hours without really seeing anything. The cup of coffee on the window sill – which Cesc had brought him before he'd gone on his weekly gossip run – had long since gone cold during his musings. He would have to trust his brother on this, as annoying as this concept might seem to him.

 

As if on cue, the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door could be heard, and when the door opened, he immediately recognized the swaying footsteps of his brother. With another sigh, he turned and greeted Sergio with the faintest of smiles. “Brother.”

 

Sergio inclined his head, and even though it was clear he had come to mend the cracks that had opened between them, his gaze was unusually cool. “Iker,” he greeted – and wasted no more time with pleasantries. “You had no right.”

 

“I just-”

 

Sergio quickly raised a hand to stop him mid-sentence. “You had no right to go to him. You had no right to interfere with the best thing that has happened to me in a very long while. And you certainly had _no right_ to go and tell him shit about me!”

 

Iker couldn't help it, his own temper rising. “It's the truth, though.”

 

Sergio took a quick step forward, his eyes flashing and sad. “It _has been_ the truth. There is a new truth now, and you won't go ahead and break it to pieces just because you're... I don't know, what the fuck are you? Jealous?”

 

“Jealous?!” Iker couldn't suppress a disbelieving bout of bitter laughter. “Jesus, Sergio. I'm not jealous! Well, maybe I am. A little bit. But that's not the point here.”

 

Sergio scoffed. “And what exactly is the point here?”

 

“The point is that the only duty I've had for most of my life was to make sure you stayed alive, healthy and out of trouble. I didn't always succeed, but God knows I fucking tried!” His chest started to heave, the rising of frustration and anger so sudden that he almost failed to get the words out. “Where you just rolled with the punches, without looking left or right in your constant pursuit of _fun_ , I was always at your back, keeping your head out of the noose, and now you suddenly think I have _no right?!”_

 

“Well, you certainly did a perfect job of protecting me when you decided we should take on every goddamned armed villain out there!”

 

“Don't you turn this around on me! All it would've taken for you to stop it, to back out of it... one little word. Just one word, Sergio, and it would've ended then and there.” He watched Sergio open his mouth as if to argue further... and he couldn't stand it anymore. “Don't you get it, you moron?! I would fucking _die_ for you!”

 

Sergio stood stock-still, stunned into silence and his own accusations forgotten in the wake of this unexpected outburst. His face was blank with shock, but Iker could see his thoughts racing through his eyes. When his gaze suddenly flicked to the floor, strands of his hair falling over his shoulders, Iker knew his brother understood.

 

“Don't you see?” His voice was soft now. “This isn't about me trying to keep you from being happy. This is about me trying to do my job as a big brother. However, this time you're not in danger of angry boyfriends coming after you, but the famous American _justitia_. When they get you, you won't see the light of day again. And I'll be damned if you're going to sit in the darkness on your own.”

 

He almost took them back when he saw how hard his words hit his brother, the full range of their meaning suddenly sinking in, but then he decided against it. They had to have this conversation, or it would forever stand between them, half-covered by dust until a storm broke loose and uncovered the chasm lurking beneath. He was torn out of his thoughts when his brother abruptly sat down in the armchair and covered his face with his hands.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

Sergio's voice shook and he seemed unable to say any more, so Iker waited patiently until he was ready to continue. When his brother raised his head, his eyes shining with tears of regret and desperate anger, he could feel his own eyes sting. But despite the hopelessness of their situation, he gave his brother a watery smile of encouragement, and it seemed to be enough to break through Sergio's defences.

 

He swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I'm sorry I landed us in this mess. I really am. I just... I didn't think...” All of a sudden, determination etched itself into every line of his face, although his body jerked as if in pain when he made his decision. “If you plan on making me choose, please do it now. Do it now before I won't be able to stop.”

 

For a moment, Iker was stunned into speechlessness, but then he almost stumbled in his haste to reach his brother. He dropped down to his knees and cradled his face in his hands. “Sese. Brother. I won't make you choose. And Cesc won't, either. In fact, he even defended you. Neither him nor I begrudge you what you have found in Fernando.” He paused for a moment. The whole truth or nothing, Iker. “Well, maybe I did, but after speaking to him, I'm convinced he is pretty smitten with your ugly face.” He had to smile when he saw how Sergio's eyes lit up despite the lingering tears. “I just... I want you to be careful. I want you to run, at first sign that something is off, okay?”

 

Sergio nodded, clearly relieved at the turn of focus away from his failures as a brother. “Alright.”

 

Iker almost had to laugh at how his voice sounded like it had when he had told him that hitting bigger boys in school for talking trash about his brother was not okay. But then a sudden thought crossed his mind. Sergio hadn't mentioned... “Does he know?”

 

Sergio's eyes immediately darkened and that was all he needed to know. “No.” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided his eyes. “No, he doesn't. I wouldn't know how to tell him. And besides...”

 

Iker sighed heavily when he trailed off. Damn it, Fernando. “You're afraid of what he will think of you.”

 

For a split second, he wondered if he should blow the whistle on the agent, but then he decided against it. It wasn't his place, and his brother was old enough to deal with it on his own. Indeed, he thought, as he watched his brother worry his lip, with his eyes caught in an obvious inner battle. His brother seemed older now. More mature, and finally introduced to despair and regret.

 

“Sergio, you must tell him. He has the right to know.” The same right you have. Iker closed his eyes and pulled Sergio's head down to rest against his forehead. If those two only knew...

 

Sergio took a deep breath. “No. Not yet. And not without your permission, either. It's just... Christ... Iker, I'm so scared I'll lose him.”

 

“Sese... you already have it. It will only get worse. You have to do it soon.”

 

The sound of the front door opening saved Sergio from having to answer. The brothers turned to see Cesc standing in the doorway, his cheeks red from the cold and his hair tousled by the merciless sea breeze, and breathing hard from climbing the stairs.

 

“Cesc!” Sergio quickly stood and stepped forward to hug him, but then he took a closer look at his expression. “Are you alr-”

 

Cesc turned to him then, with wide eyes, and the pure shock in his gaze abruptly shut him up. It seemed as if Cesc had only then realized he was there, and a flash of pain crossed his face and he almost doubled over as he tried to calm down enough to speak. Sergio jumped forward, his fingers closing around Cesc's shoulders as he kept him upright. The situation painfully reminded him of that fateful day in Beacon Hill, and he found himself unable to speak for a moment.

 

All of a sudden, Iker appeared at his side and gently threaded a hand through Cesc's dark mess of hair. “Cesc? What is it? What happened?”

 

“Guys...” Cesc took a deep shuddering breath, trying to smooth out his shaking voice. “There's terrible news.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Something wasn't right with his desk, Fernando mused, as he pushed a pencil up the desktop and watched it roll down again. Something with the legs maybe. He sighed. He had nothing to do, and he figured nothing would come in, either. Iker seemed to be trustworthy enough. Therefore, with too much time on his hands and no one to bother him – for once – he could think in peace about Sergio's weird behaviour from last night.

 

Well, he didn't really know if it was weird. He'd always known that he swung both ways, but he'd only had one relationship that deserved the title. Somehow, his studies and his work had always been more important. Until Olalla came along, that is. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes as the familiar pain echoed in his chest. Beautiful Olalla. Who had to change her name as well. Who cut all ties with him for fear of getting caught in the mess that was his past. Somehow, the pain felt duller now, and not as pervasive as before.

 

Which brought him back to Sergio. Somehow, the contentment and happiness he felt whenever he thought of the young man, who had turned his whole world upside down, overlay some of the scars still visible from his departure from Madrid. However, that didn't mean that he knew how a relationship should work. He'd had his share of meaningless flings with men, but this... this was completely different.

 

_Fernando didn't even get to say hello as Sergio jumped over the threshold and caught him in a mind-blowing kiss that was equally delicious and desperate. He could feel his lover's arms sneaking around his waist to pull him tightly against his body and when Sergio broke the kiss, there was a big grin on his face. It didn't quite reach his eyes and Fernando opened his mouth to ask what was wrong. He didn't make it, though._

 

“ _You and I-” Sergio raised a hand to wave between them. “-are going to spend the night at a really cool and fancy hotel. No phones, no annoying brothers, no take away and no crime scene pictures staring back at me.”_

 

“ _Sergio-”_

 

“ _No need to argue. It's already booked and paid.” Sergio released him from his embrace and waved him off. “Now, get your shoes and some spare clothes and we'll be off.”_

 

Fernando shook his head at the memory, but he couldn't suppress a fond smile, either. The idea of a night out hadn't sat right with him at first. He'd been tired and exhausted – all he'd wanted after a long day at the office was a quiet night with his lover and not some midnight romp with work looming on the horizon. He couldn't say if Sergio had sensed his hesitation or if that had been his plan all along, but somehow, he knew exactly what Fernando needed.

 

“ _Feeling better?”_

 

_Fernando mirrors Sergio's grin and nods. “Yes, that was absolutely delicious. Thank you.”_

 

_Sergio chuckles. “I didn't cook it.”_

 

“ _Don't talk this perfect evening apart.” Fernando leans across the table to swat at him, but a yawn ruins his plan of revenge and he covers his mouth while he tries to blink away the tired tears rising in his eyes._

 

“ _I think it's bedtime for little agents.”_

 

_Fernando snorts weakly and decides to save his strength for the few steps which separate him from the nice and huge bed that's waiting for them across the hotel room. By the time he has dragged himself over, his bones feel like lead and he can barely keep his eyes open. He lets Sergio strip him off his clothes until he is down to his boxers and all but falls into bed, eyes already closed. When the cool fabric of the covers hits his skin, he can't suppress a short, but violent shiver._

 

“ _Come here.”_

 

_Sergio's voice is soft and gentle and then there are two strong arms pulling him forward, settling him in on his side, pressed against his lover's body from his stomach down. A sigh escapes him as warmth seeps into his overwrought muscles and he leans into Sergio's hands that are whispering along his spine in barely-there caresses. Fernando expects him to dive in for a kiss next, but it doesn't come. He slowly opens his eyes and finds his lover observing him with clear eyes and a sad smile._

 

_He frowns and raises a hand to draw his thumb along his jaw. “Are you okay?”_

 

_A flash of pain – or is it fear? – crosses Sergio's eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came. “Yes. Yes, I am.”_

 

_Fernando knows it's a lie and Sergio knows he knows too, but he decides to let it go. If Sergio doesn't want to tell him, he won't pry. However, it is in moments like these, that he becomes painfully aware of the fact that they don't know each other yet. Not as well as they should before jumping head over heels into a relationship. Especially when one of them is a wanted criminal and the other is supposed to catch him. And maybe his lover doesn't know how to handle his own secret, either._

 

_Sergio's embrace tightens and he pulls him closer until Fernando can hide his face against his shoulder, and the train of thought drains away. Just by listening to his heartbeat, just by inhaling his by now familiar scent, he feels himself coming to rest. His secret can wait another day, as can Sergio's. He isn't ready yet to give up the illusion of a perfectly normal relationship._

 

Fernando had to smile at his own thoughts. Love left any man a sappy mess, it seemed. And turned gay men into mother-hens, obviously. Sergio had even insisted on dropping him off at the office himself. Shaking his head again, he looked up to check the time on the clock above the door to his office, but instead, he came face to face with a man standing in his doorway. The stranger wore a black trench coat and six guns were strapped to his chest. With a shout of surprise, Fernando leapt out of his chair, but before he could even think about where he had put his own gun, a black barrel was staring at his face.

 

“Don't move.”

 

Fernando forced himself to stay calm as his mind ran through a thousand possible outcomes for this scenario. And somehow, in all of them, he ended up dead. “What do you want?”

 

“I thought it might be obvious.”

 

“Kill me, I imagine.”

 

The man's face was unreadable. “That's correct, Agent Torres. I promise it won't hurt.”

 

Fernando had just opened his mouth to reply that this was the most ridiculous statement he had ever heard when he noticed Detective Reina peering around the door frame. Time to grovel. “So... I take it that you are responsible for the disaster in Beacon Hill?” He didn't even wait for an answer. Hurry up, Pepe! “Six guns... I must confess, I didn't believe it was possible.”

 

The corner of the man's mouth twitched and his finger resting against the trigger relaxed. Gotcha. “Yes, well, it's not an easy feat. But I can assure you I won't need all six of them today.”

 

Just when Fernando answered “That's a shame.”, Pepe pounced forward onto the assassin's back, ripping his arm up. A shot went wide, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling, and Fernando took a second to overcome the haze of panic clouding his mind and force himself to move. A second shot rang out just as he reached the two quarrelling men, and Pepe fell back with a shout. The assassin, focused on his victim and distracted for just a moment, didn't see Fernando coming – nor the chair aiming for his neck. The metal crashed into the base of his skull with a sickening crunch and he staggered forward from the force of the impact, his gun slipping from his hands.

 

Fernando immediately took hold of his arms, twisting them behind his back and forcing the weakened assassin down onto the ground. He barely realized the arrival of several police officers, until two of them pushed him out of the way to take over his hold on the assailant. Fernando watched them pull the man off the floor and over to the door, his heart pounding in his ears, making him deaf to everything else.

 

Trapped in a daze, he could only stare at Pepe with wide eyes, lying on the floor with blood dripping down his thigh. This didn't make sense. This didn't make _any_ sense! Why him? Why now? Movement in the doorway caught his attention, and he slowly turned his head to see the officers struggling with their detainee. All three were looking back at him, and while the assassin refused to leave the room, one of the officers mouthed something that looked like his name.

 

With a start, Fernando snapped back to reality, Pepe's shouts of pain flooding in as well as someone calling for a doctor. And indeed, his name. “Agent Torres? Sir, this man claims to have something important to tell you.”

 

Fernando nodded and motioned for the assassin to speak as he tried to hide the cold terror spreading in his veins behind an indifferent mask. “What is it?”

 

“There's nothing you can do. They're walking right into the lion's den.”

 

And with a vicious smirk, he turned back to the door and let the officers pull him down the hall. Fernando stumbled back until his knees hit his office chair and he sat down heavily, his mind jumping into overdrive. There was no doubt about who the assassin had meant by 'they'. The Saints, definitely. Walking right into a trap. But there hadn't been a message. There hadn't been a message and he had _no_ _fucking clue where they were!_

 

“Goddammit, Iker,” Fernando whispered. Oh God. Sergio.

 

“Sir?” Pepe. _Pepe!_

 

Fernando flew out of his chair and knelt down next to the detective. A police officer was pressing a towel to the wound in his leg, and even though Pepe was uncharacteristically pale and there was sweat gathering on his brow, the wound didn't look fatal. Thank God.

 

“Sir, I'm going to survive. So please quit the lost puppy look.” When Fernando threw him an indignant glare, he impatiently waved it off. “Sir, I think I know who they're after. He said lion's den, right? Our informers mentioned there's a guy from Madrid in town. His name's Leo and that bastard sure as hell is on their shitlist.” Fernando froze, his blood running cold. Oh God. “Sir? Haven't you heard?”

 

“No... no, I haven't.”

 

Pepe's voice sounded distant in his ears, as if muffled by cotton. “Fernando? Are you alright?”

 

Fernando opened his mouth, but nothing came out. And then the ambulance crew burst into the room and saved him from having to explain. He was ushered out of the way, and as he stumbled to his feet to make room for the paramedics, he could feel the old panic that he had buried deep years ago resurfacing.

 

Overwhelming fear took his breath away. Leo. That one name he had hoped to never hear again. Leo, in this town, waiting in the shadows to finish him off, waiting to destroy his life once and for all. No, he corrected himself, to destroy the one thing he had allowed himself to care about. With a growl, Fernando squared his shoulders. Not today. This time, you won't get away unpunished.

 

Step 1. Call the brothers. He hurried over to his desk to pick up his phone, but paused when he saw the message icon blinking on the screen. Iker. He forced himself to take a deep breath as images of Sergio jumped to the forefront of his mind, lying dead in some forgotten back alley. Not yet. Not yet.

 

_**Iker Casillas to Fernando Torres. 06:34 p.m.** _

_Within the hour. 65, Chelsea Street. Keep it clear._

 

Fernando checked his watch. 06:51. Biting back a curse, he grabbed his gun and headed for the door, trying to ignore the blood stains on the floor and waving off the police officers trying to hold him back. With shaking fingers, he pressed the call button on his phone, but just as he feared, Iker didn't pick up. And neither did Sergio. They're not dead yet, Fernando repeated in his head like a mantra. There's still time.

 

Step 2. Call Alonso and Gerrard. Why the hell did he sent them to investigate a crime scene that involved just some unimportant members of two rivalling gangs? Stupid. When he reached voice mail again, he remembered that the crime scene was an underground car park. No reception.  _Stupid._

 

“Something happened at the office. Assassin, set on me. Pepe got shot, but he'll live. Listen carefully, I'm going to check something at 65, Chelsea Street. Give me 90 minutes. If I haven't called by then, send the cavalry. Make sure to pick a team that is able to infiltrate without barging in through the front door.”

 

Dear God, please don't let me be too late.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you very much for reading! Next up: the big clash. :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the big showdown! Hope you enjoy it. :)  
> I wish you all a great Clásico tomorrow! May the best team from Madrid win! ^^

— † —

 

 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5 – Fernando looked up from his watch – 4, 3, 2, 1... There he was, right on time. Again. Fernando couldn't believe how lucky he was. Not only was there just one lonely watchman circling the house, that guy obviously took exactly three minutes and 45 seconds every time he did it. The agent had checked. Twice. That meant a steady time window, but also almost twelve wasted minutes of his rescue mission time.

 

Fernando pulled a hand through his hair and forced himself to take two deep breaths. In and out. In and out. It wouldn't do the Saints any good if he barged in through the front gate in his haste to come to their aid. But he couldn't wait any longer now. He'd have to stress his luck a bit further. As soon as the security guard was out of sight, Fernando drew his gun and hurried through the trees and bushes towards the old town house, staying low to the ground. He paused when it suddenly loomed above him, with the faded painting on its walls scaling off and its blind windows staring back at him.

 

There was no light to be seen, but in the dusk, he could see that two frames of the big glasshouse next to the back patio were missing. He crept closer to peer inside and almost gave a shout of surprise when he came face to face with a security guard. Fernando exhaled in a rush and splayed a hand over his chest in a futile attempt to calm his pounding heart. The man was dead, but his eyes were wide open, gazing unseeing at the rapidly darkening sky above the glass ceiling, while a thin line of blood ran down the side of his face from the bullet he had taken to the head. It seemed like he had found the trail of the Saints.

 

_Sergio almost leaps out of his skin when the window of the greenhouse Cesc and Iker are working on suddenly shatters into pieces with a loud bang. “Jesus Christ!” He spins around to the sight of Cesc and Iker leaning forward into the now empty frames of two former windows, their guns pointing at something – someone? – lying on the floor. “What the hell...? We should've knocked on the front door instead!”_

 

_Cesc turns to him with an annoyed frown on his face. “He was suddenly standing there – aiming for you, if I might add! What was I supposed to do, let him shoot you?!”_

 

_Iker puts a hand on his shoulder and glares at Sergio. All of their nerves are on edge, but they only stand a chance if they keep it together instead of lashing out at one another. “Guys...! Come on, we have to be quick. They will know now we're here.”_

 

Fernando followed the dead silence deeper into the house, and if it weren't for that lonesome watchman guarding the premises and the body in the greenhouse, he'd be sure he'd come to the wrong number. With every door he passed, his heart beat louder in his ears, his breathing unnaturally loud in the still air. The rooms were all empty and deserted – there was no furniture, no sign of life, only dust, and Fernando couldn't shake the feeling that this long-forgotten house was one huge death trap. He just couldn't fathom for whom.

 

He almost slipped as he stepped on bullet casings that heralded another dead guard lying at the bottom of the stairs. The blood from the wounds in his chest was already drying on his black jacket. Unlike the guard in the glasshouse, he hadn't been so lucky to die immediately. Fernando sighed quietly as he stared down at his face, contorted in mortal agony, and his mind went reeling.

 

The Saints had been here, there was no doubt about it. And not just mere moments ago, that much was clear, too. But where were they now? If Leo had managed to overpower the Saints, he wouldn't have stayed at the crime scene. If the Saints had managed to take Leo down, his guard wouldn't still be patrolling outside. It didn't make sense, and time was running out.

 

_They meet again in the hallway, and even though he can't make out their faces behind the black masks, Iker immediately knows by the tense set of their shoulders and the jittery way they move. “Nothing, either?”_

 

_Sergio shakes his head. “There's no one upstairs.”_

 

“ _I don't understand. According to Cesc's information, he should be here.”_

 

“ _What if it was a set-up? Again?” Sergio's voice is tight with anger, and his hands are shaking around the handle of his guns. “And while we're standing here, wondering, he might be after Fernando already!” He abruptly turns and heads down the corridor towards the front door._

 

“ _Sergio!” Iker knows he is blind with worry and fear, and torn between the duty to their cause and the duty to his lover. But they need a plan. “Sergio, wait!”_

 

_His brother doesn't even slow down, and Iker is about to run after him when the silent house erupts into chaos around them. In the blink of an eye, they're surrounded. Iker raises his guns with a curse, but he immediately knows they're outnumbered, and so he pauses. Gunshots ring out down the hall, and he quickly turns his head, his heart turning to ice. Sergio, however, is still standing, unlike his opponent who's sliding down the wall next to the stairs. His attempts at drawing air into his shattered lungs is the only sound in the sudden silence._

 

“ _Stop!” The leader, a tall man with a bald head, steps forward. “There's no point in trying. We've got you outgunned.”_

 

_Sergio actually freezes, but Iker can see that he's this close to snapping. Out of the corner of his eye, he can make out Cesc, aiming at the leader. His breathing is short and quick, but his finger on the trigger of his shotgun doesn't budge. Iker's mind is reeling with the two options presented to him – either give up and hand themselves over or try to shoot their way free and get killed for sure._

 

_He lowers his guns. Cesc doesn't hesitate and points his gun to the floor as well. It takes Sergio two seconds longer to follow suit, and even though Iker knows the glare of betrayal he receives from his brother isn't really directed at him, but at the hopelessness of their situation, he can't help but wince._

 

_The leader makes a sign with his hands and his men step forward, collecting their weapons and forcing their arms behind their backs. Cesc lets loose a hissed curse as one of his captors brushes against the wound on his hand and instinctively tries to back away from him. The guard doesn't take kindly to that. The barrel of his gun crashes into Cesc's temple, and the young man stumbles before crumbling in his captor's hold. Iker gives a shout, but all of a sudden, he can feel the cold steel of a knife pressing against his throat, and he doesn't dare move._

 

_There's a commotion down the hall as the guards struggle to contain Sergio who is beside himself with rage, but the tussle is short-lived as one of the guards delivers a vicious punch to his brother's gut. Sergio bends forward with a pained gasp, his resistance broken for the moment._

 

“ _Now that this is settled, gentlemen, please be so kind and follow us.”_

 

Fernando was just about to hurry up the stairs when a faint glint on the hallway floor made him pause. Cautiously stepping over, he crouched down to take a closer look and his blood ran cold when he recognized the shape. A rosary, with a metal cross, the thread torn in the middle. He reached out and gently cradled it in his hand – it felt cool against his skin, and he couldn't suppress a shiver. There, the final proof that the brothers had been here. And another wasted minute. He jumped up and headed for the stairs, but he never made it.

 

All of a sudden, a hidden door in the stairwell sprang open, and before he could even raise his gun, they were on him. It was two against one and he didn't stand a chance. The struggle was short. He barely felt his gun being wrestled from his hand before something heavy met the back of his head and the world tilted into darkness.

 

 

— † —

 

 

It turned out the basement was in better shape than the house above. When he'd been dragged through the hidden door and down the stairs, he had expected a dark and dank hole, filled with empty wine racks and more dust, and maybe rats too. What he hadn't expected was a bunker, with a hall spreading in two directions and leading to several rooms. It was clearly bigger than the house itself, and Iker was struck with the thought how movie-like it looked as he was shoved down the well-lit corridor.

 

For a split-second, he wondered how long Leo had been flying under the radar in their town, pulling the strings from afar, but then he was pushed into the room at the end of the corridor, and the train of thought was gone. The guards holding him shoved him down onto a metal chair and chained him up with the manacles attached to it before pulling the mask off his face. Sergio received the same treatment right next to him, while Cesc... oh God, Cesc. One side of his bare face was coated in blood, and he was still unconscious, hanging limply between his two captors. They didn't shackle him, but just dumped him in a corner of the room, and Iker felt his temper rise. However, his brother did the job for him.

 

“Hey, careful there, you brutes!” Sergio promptly received a punch to the face for his efforts. His head snapped to the side, but he somehow found the strength to chuckle weakly through the pain spreading in his jaw. “Yeah,” he muttered, blood running down from his split lip. “As if that will make me shut up.”

 

The guard sneered and raised his fist again, but he was held back by the leader. “Save it for later. We've got a job to do.”

 

With a last nasty look at Sergio who just replied with a bloody grin, the man followed his leader out of the room, and they were alone with two guards who took their stand with their backs to the wall and their fingers on the trigger of their guns. Their faces held similar expressions that said 'No games!'. Well, fuck you, Iker thought. We're going to die anyway. The thought didn't fill him with dread, as he had always imagined, but only with worry for his brother and Cesc. Oh God, and he was responsible for dragging them both into this mess.

 

Iker looked over at Cesc's lifeless form. “Cesc...!”

 

“It's no use,” Sergio said softly and then spit out a bit of blood. “He's out. May be better for whatever's to come.”

 

For a few minutes, the brothers were tangled up in their own thoughts of regret and guilt, the silence broken only by the occasional shifting of one of their guards. The longer they were left unattended, the more anxious Iker became. He'd had no illusions about what awaited them. Torture, definitely. A slow death, probably. But now, sitting there, waiting for his fate without knowing when it would strike, he wondered how long they might draw it out. At the moment, Fernando was their only hope.

 

“Listen, Sese, I'm-”

 

Sergio quickly turned to him, and the fire in his eyes abruptly shut him up. “If you're going to say sorry, I'm going to find a way to hurt you before that bastard can. I followed you here because I believed in what we were doing. It's not your fault. And it's the same for Cesc. It's _not your fault!”_

 

Iker leant back in his chair and sighed, his eyes wandering back to Cesc. “I'd love to believe you, but-”

 

“You'd be a fool if you didn't. Besides, there was never any doubt about where this would end, was there? I just wish-”

 

Sergio trailed off and pressed his eyes shut as pain overwhelmed him. Iker knew he thought about Fernando, about what they had, what they could have had, and about the secret he would take to the grave. Or so he thought. “Sergio, there's something you must know. Fernando-”

 

A commotion down the hall interrupted his confession, and Iker barely had time to wonder what it meant before the door to their room was flung open. He only registered Sergio's shocked intake of breath as if through a fog as Fernando, who was barely conscious, was carried into the room and carelessly tossed onto the cold ground. Oh God. Iker closed his eyes for a moment. Their only chance at survival. Gone.

 

He looked over at his brother, who'd gone paler than Iker had ever seen him. Sergio was staring at Fernando with wide eyes, his body as taut as a bowstring and his hands clenched into fists. He was visibly shaking with the effort of keeping up an indifferent mask, and when Fernando's eyes slowly fluttered open, he started and bit his lip, causing the split to bleed again.

 

“So.” Iker's slowly – and reluctantly – turned his head around to the leader of the guards who looked at his prisoners with a smug expression on his face. “Now that everyone is here-” He motioned for two of his men to haul Fernando, who had trouble keeping his eyes open, onto his knees. “-or almost here, I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Leo.”

 

A short moment of silence ticked by as everyone tried to process that information, and Iker's eyes flicked back to Fernando to gauge his reaction. The agent still had trouble keeping upright, but he was rapidly gaining consciousness as the confusion slowly disappeared from his face, only to be replaced by a deep frown.

 

Leo grinned. “I guess you've all been _dying_ to meet me, haven't you?”

 

Fernando levelled him with a challenging glare. “You may be Leo, but you're not who we're after.”

 

The grin turned into a smirk. “Really? How come?”

 

“You're just a spokesman. A puppet, dancing to a tune you don't even know the rhythm of.”

 

Leo's eyes narrowed into slits, the smugness gone. “How would you know?”

 

“Well, let's just say-” Fernando smiled a sly smile. “-you don't strike me as the brilliant strategist type.”

 

Leo smiled right back, and his smile was dangerous, as he knew he had the advantage here. Iker just hoped Fernando knew what he was doing, that he was trying to play for time instead of trying to actually get Leo to lose his temper. “And what do you think I am?”

 

“I think you're too dimwitted to realize you're being used as cannon fodder.”

 

Leo immediately jumped forward, catching Fernando by the collar. “You little-”

 

“Enough.” Everyone froze, including Fernando, whose eyes turned impossibly wide as the new voice joined in. “You've always been too smart for your own good, Fernando.”

 

Leo slowly uncurled his hands and stepped back, his glare promising torture and death. Fernando, however, only had eyes for the man leaning casually against the door frame. He was short, with brown hair and a serious, but handsome face, and yet he had an aura of authority that showed Iker that he was the one who would call the shots tonight.

 

“Juan...?”

 

Iker frowned. Now that was a name he wasn't familiar with. Sergio, however, definitely was. “What? Like in your old partner?!”

 

Juan's dark and clear eyes lazily flicked over to him. He made a little gesture with his hands, and Iker suddenly felt the cold barrel of a gun digging into the back of his head. “If you speak again without being asked,” Juan said in a soft and almost friendly voice, “I'll have your brother killed. Understood?”

 

Sergio nodded, albeit reluctantly, but Iker could see that his eyes were burning with fury. Still, he had indeed understood that it wasn't an empty threat. It was clear that they were only supporting actors in the tragedy being staged right before their eyes and the antagonist had no use for them. Iker knew he would not hesitate to get rid of them if they dared to interrupt his show.

 

Juan smiled, unperturbed. “Now, Fernando... Long time, no see.” When Fernando just stared at him, he shook his head and sighed, as if he were dealing with a difficult child. “Won't you at least say hi?”

 

Fernando suddenly blinked, as if he had only just woken up. “It was you.” His voice was low and rough, and it shook with the effort to suppress the hysteria threatening to surface. “In Madrid. You pulled his strings-” He nodded into Leo's direction who growled in reply. “-behind the scenes. And you could only get away, because you knew when the operation would take place.”

 

“I see you haven't lost your voice.”

 

“For fuck's sake, Juan...” Fernando continued as if he hadn't spoken. “How could you watch my life fall apart and... and help me pick up the pieces, when _you were the one to blame?!”_

 

Iker struggled to suppress a gasp as the pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place. Juan just raised an eyebrow. “That's your first question? You don't want to know why I did it?”

 

Fernando scoffed, and his body tensed as he tried to keep his fury in check. The guards tightened their grip on his arms, but he didn't pay them any heed as he was solely focused on Juan. “I should think it's obvious. You used me to get rid of the competition, and then you made sure I wouldn't be able to sniff you out.”

 

“Well, I must say I'm impr-”

 

“Now, Juan.” Anger flashed in Juan's eyes at being so rudely interrupted, and a vicious smile spread on Fernando's face. “My _question_ for you is: why come back for me now? Why stage this farce? You were the sole ruler of the empire. Wasn't that what you wanted?”

 

Juan bristled at his mocking tone and pushed away from the door frame, taking a few quick steps forward. Fernando, unwilling to let himself be intimidated, raised his chin and stared him down. “Well, it turned out that if you cut off the head of the snake, the body isn't necessarily willing to accept the new one.” He let loose a bitter laugh. “They _refused_ to continue doing business with me, calling me a traitor. As if they were any better.”

 

“Oh, Juan. No wonder you always left the thinking part to me.”

 

With a snarl, Juan flew forward, a gun suddenly in his hand, and he struck Fernando across the face with the handle. Iker could see Sergio jump out of the corner of his eye, but his brother reigned himself in just as the pressure of the barrel against his head intensified. Iker breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he felt the guard pull back again, and Sergio turned to him with wide eyes. There was only despair and fear in his gaze, and a plea for his big brother to put an end to this madness. Iker raised his shoulders in a helpless half-shrug.

 

Sergio pressed his lips into a thin line and turned back to Fernando, who was just regaining his composure. Only the quick rise and fall of his chest betrayed the pain he felt, and when he looked up at Juan, Iker could see that the pretence of smug superiority was gone and there was only hurt left. “So what now? You've decided to repeat that stunt?”

 

Juan straightened back up with a smile, switching back to his composed authority in the blink of an eye. “No. This time, I was merely aiming for a partnership with the syndicate over here. And it was _so easy_ with all the information you provided me with whenever you called to ask for advice on a case. But then you guys burst onto the scene.” He performed a mock bow in the direction of the brothers. “Thank you very much for doing all the work for me.”

 

Juan slowly sauntered over to Sergio who awaited him with a scowl. Iker tensed, but didn't dare move. “But then you, Fernando, became a liability, simply by falling for one of them.”

 

Fernando spit out a bitter laugh. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. “Why encourage it if it didn't fit in with your plan?”

 

“You were already on their side. It was only a matter of time until you defected to them, so I decided to speed things up a bit. Besides, this way, I got all of you at once.” He raised a hand to caress Sergio's jaw, and he stared back at him with a dark glare, brimming with wrath, but he remained still as a statue and didn't grant Juan the satisfaction of trying to pull away from his touch. “I must admit, I can see why you went for him. He really is a beauty. And he's got a spine – something Olalla always lacked.”

 

“Don't you dare.” Fernando's voice was quiet, but shaking with barely suppressed rage. “Don't you dare touch him.”

 

Juan, however, wasn't fazed by his threat. “Possessive, are we?” He paused for a moment. “Now that you know everything, who am I going to kill first?” He turned back to Sergio and pointed a finger at his chest. “I wonder if you're still so beautiful when your heart has stopped beating.”

 

“You're only after me, aren't you?”

 

A grin spread on Juan's face as he watched Sergio trying not to react to the fear in Fernando's pleading words, keeping his glare fixed on Juan instead. “Where's the fun in that?” He tapped a hand against his chin, as if mulling over his options. “However, on second thought-”

 

And then he spun around on his heel, raised his gun and aimed at Fernando's chest. Sergio's outcry mingled with the gunshots ringing out in the basement, and Iker could only watch, horrified, as Fernando fell. His brother immediately tipped over his chair and crawled over to him, as Juan and his guards stepped back to watch the scene.

 

Fernando turned to Sergio with a small smile on his face, his eyes already half-closed. “Don't stop, okay? You'll get... out of here.” He took a rattling breath. “Don't ever... stop.”

 

“Fernando!” Sergio laughed, but it sounded hysterical to his own ears. “Stop talking like that! You're wearing a vest, right? _Right?!”_ The smile on Fernando's face remained as he slowly shook his head. “Goddammit, Fernando! Nando!”

 

But Fernando's eyes had already closed and Sergio watched as his chest rose and fell for a last breath before it stilled completely. Iker trembled with the effort to keep still as his brother struggled against the manacles and then let loose a piercing scream that was the worst thing Iker had ever heard. The guards quickly stepped forward and hauled Sergio off the ground, but his brother howled and thrashed about like mad, raging against their iron grip, regardless of the blood running down his wrists where the metal cut into his skin. One of his captors put a hand over his mouth to silence him, and Iker found that the high whimpering noise echoing in the back of his throat, combined with the sight of his tears dripping over the hand of the guard, was even worse.

 

He turned to Juan who was watching with a face arranged into casual indifference, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. It sparked a fury in Iker he didn't know he was capable of. “You'll go straight to hell.”

 

“Really?,” Juan drawled and crossed his arms. “Well, you'll be driving the bus, dear.”

 

Iker opened his mouth to retaliate, but he never made it. The door to the basement burst open, a flash grenade hurtling through, and the world around him abruptly exploded into blinding white, drowning out all colours and shades. In the following chaos, he shouted his brother's name, but he couldn't hear anything over the ruckus of guns going off and magazines being replaced. Someone rushed by behind him and all of a sudden, he felt his chair tip over. For a long and terrifying second, he hovered on the brink, but then he crashed over, his head hitting the floor hard. And then he knew no more.

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you for staying with me (and please don't hate me)!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this chapter to the brave people that were responsible for the Fall of the Wall and the downfall of the GDR which are gonna be celebrated on Sunday. May that system of surveillance and repression stay buried in the ashes it fell into 25 years ago. 
> 
> Have a nice weekend, folks! :)

— † —

 

 

The little black spot in the far corner was new. A spider, maybe? It must be, otherwise he didn't know how it would've gotten up there overnight. It definitely hadn't been there yesterday, he was sure of it. After weeks of staring up at that ceiling, he knew it like the back of his hand. There wasn't much else to see in this room with the yellow walls. Three beds, a chair in the right corner. If it weren't for the guard sitting there and the bars lining the windows, this might've been a regular hospital room. It wasn't, though.

 

“Morning, Dave.”

 

Sergio smiled faintly. Iker always made a point of knowing the names of their guards and greeting them every day. He didn't need to turn over to know that, even after weeks of watching them, the man was only inclining his head in return. They weren't allowed to speak to them, as the officials feared the Saints might try to talk someone into springing them free from Boston's maximum-security prison. A ridiculous thought, as far as Sergio was concerned.

 

The bed creaked as Iker stood and padded over to his brother, gently ruffling his hair. “Morning, Sese.”

 

“Hey, Iker.”

 

“Are you up for this?”

 

Sergio closed his eyes. “No.” Today was the day. The day he would have to face his demons in court. The day Juan Mata would answer to that very court before walking free. No one would believe the Saints what had happened in the house on Chelsea Street, not when a cop was involved and they would be accused of murder themselves. And just like that, that short bastard would walk away unchallenged, and all their hard work would have been for nothing. All their sacrifices would have been for nothing. “But I'm sick of just sitting here, staring at the ceiling.”

 

Iker had told him that, for a few weeks after that fateful day, he'd been caught in a state of shock where nothing seemed to reach him, where he was dead to the world with his eyes wide open. He couldn't remember anything of what had happened between the moment Juan fired that gun and the moment he woke from the stupor and immediately wished he hadn't.

 

_One moment, there is oblivion, sweet painless oblivion. And then in the next, his head is flooded with memories – memories of the fear in his brother's eyes, of Cesc lying still in a dark corner, of Juan caressing his face. With the rush of recall comes the agony. Where there was nothing more in his chest before than a dully beating heart, there is now a fire that threatens to swallow him whole._

 

_He can feel a scream building in his throat, and once he's started, he can't stop. He screams and screams until the world around him sways and rears, and all of a sudden, there are arms closing around him. His eyes snap open to the sight of Iker's terrified face, before his brother turns to say something to someone behind him, one hand reaching out and waving about wildly. It takes Sergio a moment to focus properly. There's a prison guard standing at the foot of the bed, pointing a gun at him, an uncertain frown on his face._

 

_It seems like Iker can convince him that his brother is no immediate threat, and the man steps back, but doesn't lower the gun. Iker turns back to Sergio, his eyes wide and full of sorrow and relief in equal measure. “Sese, can you hear me? Sese?”_

 

_His voice brings forth another wave of memories, all of them circling around what he has lost, who he has lost. “Fernando...,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Oh God, Fernando...”_

 

_And then the tears come, and he cries and cries, clinging to his brother who cries with him. All the tears in the world won't bring him back, but he just can't stop._

 

Sergio swallowed thickly as the memories threatened to overwhelm him. Again. He couldn't fathom who the hell had come up with such a nonsense saying as 'Time is a healer.'. He knew that Fernando's ghost would haunt him until the end of his days – the way his hair would fall into his eyes when he lowered his head to hide a smile, the way he would raise an eyebrow if he thought Sergio was being ridiculous, the way his eyes would flutter shut when... Sergio quickly drew the back of his hand across his eyes. For fuck's sake. It actually hurt every time, deep in his chest, like his heart had stopped beating for a second or two.

 

His brother kissed the top of his head and left him to regain his composure in peace, wandering over to check on the last member of their band of Saints. Cesc had woken from his coma two days ago, but he was still too weak to be awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Neither Sergio nor Iker found they had it in them to tell him what had happened after he had lost consciousness. Next time, they always told themselves. We'll get it over with next time he wakes up.

 

“Hey, Cesc.”

 

Sergio watched out of the corner of his eye how Iker slowly settled on the edge of the bed and took Cesc's hand, watching his face closely for any signs of consciousness. It had become a ritual for his brother to sit with Cesc all day long, sometimes telling him stories of their childhood, sometimes just watching him sleep. Sergio knew damn well why he did it, but he was sure Iker was still trying hard to ignore his crush on the newest addition to their blended family. It was about time Cesc recovered and told him to _fucking kiss him already._ He almost snorted at the thought of the short waiter pointing a finger in his brother's face, trying to look threatening and ending up looking adorable instead.

 

All of a sudden, there were noises in the hallway and the guard in the corner rose from his chair to greet their escort to the courthouse. Iker and Sergio had just about time to exchange a grim look as they jumped to their feet before the door opened and half a dozen guards swept in, followed by – Sergio blinked in surprise – the detectives Alonso, Gerrard and Reina. What the hell were _they_ doing here? He didn't get to dwell on that thought as two guards stepped over to tamper with the wires and machines that kept track of Cesc's vital signs, and he instinctively moved forward to stop them. Before he could interfere, however, another two guards were on him, holding him back, while his brother received a similar treatment.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?,” Iker yelled. “He isn't to be moved to court before he's fully recovered!”

 

Detective Alonso stepped forward, and although his face was unreadable, there was a kind spark in his eyes that irritated the brothers. “I've got orders to transfer you out of this prison and to court. That includes this young man.”

 

“And whose orders are they?”

 

“Mine.” The quiet voice sent a violent tremor down Sergio's spine and he went completely still. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

 

With wide eyes, Sergio slowly raised his head and his mouth fell open when he caught sight of the man standing in the doorway. The words he had been prepared to throw at Alonso died on his tongue, and he watched, mutely, as Fernando moved into the room, quietly directing his men to move Cesc as safely as possible from the room. When they had disappeared into the hall, he casually checked his watch before turning to the brothers and nodding at their captors. Sergio felt himself being released from their grip, but he found he couldn't gather the strength to move.

 

Iker, ever the leader, strode forward and caught Fernando with a hand to the neck, bringing their foreheads together for a second or two. “Thank God you're alive.”

 

A teasing smile spread on Fernando's face as he pulled handcuffs from his pocket. "Well, no need to get smug. There was just no one else to keep you in line."

 

Iker laughed as he let himself be restrained, and he didn't even protest as Detective Gerrard stepped forward to guide him away by the elbow. Hope returned to the tense set of his shoulders, and he didn't look back as he was led from the room. He'd trust his brother with no one else.

 

Sergio still hadn't moved yet, the shock evident in his features, and when Fernando turned to him, he couldn't stop the tears from springing to his eyes. A thousand thoughts ran through his head at a manic pace, but he couldn't get one word of them out as he watched Fernando pull another pair of handcuffs from his jacket and cautiously reach out to turn him around. Sergio let out a stuttering sigh when he felt Fernando's gentle fingers caressing his wrists for a moment before he locked the cold metal in its place. He started when the agent suddenly moved in to press a kiss to the tattoo behind his ear and he realized they were alone in the room.

 

“Sergio,” he whispered, and his usually calm and collected voice sounded raw and low. “You can't imagine how much I missed you.” Sergio's breath hitched in his throat and he let himself fall back into the welcoming warmth of Fernando's body. They stood like that for a moment, lost in the sensation of being reunited against all odds, until Fernando noticeably shook himself. “I've got something for you.”

 

Sergio turned to watch Fernando reach up to his collar before pulling a familiar rosary over his head. “I thought I lost it.” He sighed when he felt the weight of the wooden beads settle around his neck, and his throat clogged up again. “Thank you.”

 

They locked eyes, and for a moment Fernando looked like he was dying to touch him again, to finally kiss him properly, maybe. He didn't get to, though, as Detective Reina suddenly appeared in the doorway, and Sergio tried not to groan. “Fernando? We're good to go.”

 

Fernando nodded, the professional poker face slipping back on. “Thank you.” He took a hold of Sergio's elbow. “Go ahead, Pepe.”

 

As they moved down the prison halls, neither of them said a word, as Fernando was busy glaring at the officers guarding the security doors with his 'I can get you fired if you don't do as I say' face. It took three check points for Sergio to realize that it was all for show – the guards offered neither resistance nor questions, and their fingers that were supposed to be ready on the trigger rested calmly on the barrels of their guns instead. The most unsettling occurrence, however, was the respect that appeared in their gaze when they saw Fernando approach and which intensified when they greeted Sergio with a tiny nod.

 

“How many did you let in on your plan?,” the Saint whispered to Fernando through clenched teeth, the panic in his voice mounting as he thought of all the possible traitors among the guards.

 

Fernando returned the nod of another watchman, although it wasn't directed at him. “Only the Terrible Three. I suppose your reputation precedes you.”

 

Sergio blinked at the smile in his tone and tried to keep a lid on the storm of emotions brewing in his head along with all the questions he wanted to ask. However, as soon as there was only a parking site between him and the gate to freedom and significantly less cameras about, he couldn't hold back anymore.

 

“How did you... I saw you-” He couldn't bring himself to say it.

 

Fernando's hold on his arm tightened. “Xabi and Stevie had a paramedic crew with them. It seems your God wanted me to finish what you started.”

 

Sergio suddenly strained against his grip, but Fernando pulled him on with a quick warning glance back to the prison. With a heavy frown, the Saint complied and kept walking, but his voice was tinged with barely suppressed hurt. “Why didn't you tell us? Tell _me?”_

 

“Believe me, you were the first thing on my mind when I woke up, but if Juan had known that I wasn't dead...” Fernando looked ahead at the detectives, his allies, waiting for them at the open back door of a prison truck. “If he had known, our plan would've been doomed from the start. He wouldn't show his face in court if he didn't think he would win.”

 

“Hold on.” This time, Sergio actually stopped walking, and Fernando let him. “In court?! I thought you were going to spring us out. Are you going to be a witness, too?”

 

“No.” A grim smile settled on Fernando's face. “I'm going to be the judge.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

See? Everything alright. Maybe. ;D Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

— † —

 

 

_Cold eyes behind a black mask. A raised gun. “Pray you will never run into me in hell.”_

 

„Sergio?“ A pause. “Sergio!”

 

Huffing out a groan, Sergio threw an arm over his eyes as the image flickered and died. He'd laid down after this really exhausting and emotionally draining day in order to rest his tired eyes for _just a moment_ , and of course Detective Gerrard – Steven, he corrected himself inside his head – just _had to_ choose that exact moment to want something.

 

“Jesus Christ, Steven,” he mumbled into the couch pillow. “I just closed my eyes. What is it?”

 

“You what?” An amused snort. “You've slept for almost three hours, man.”

 

Sergio shot up into a seating position, blinking rapidly. “What?!”

 

“Yeah. And soundly, I might add.” Steven flicked his head in the direction of the front door. “There's a car coming. I think it's Fernando.”

 

Sergio rubbed at his eyes as he followed the detective into the hall and out onto the porch. “Where's Iker?”

 

“Also sleeping. In his _bed_ , though.”

 

“Ha ha...”

 

“I didn't want to disturb him. No one but you, the three of us and Fernando know of this safe house. And I thought you might like to be awake when he arrives.”

 

Sergio ignored his knowing smile and peered down the driveway instead. Indeed, there was a pair of lights heading up the deserted street in the dusk and Sergio once again was impressed with Fernando's choice. The safe house sat shielded by a line of trees, with nothing but cornfields spreading out in all directions for miles on end. It was near impossible to follow them unseen or take them by surprise.

 

When the car finally came to a stop in front of the porch, it was indeed Fernando who got out and then approached them with a barely there smile. He looked so utterly exhausted that Sergio had to suppress the sudden impulse to bound down the stairs and pull him into his arms to keep him upright.

 

Fernando's smile widened when he sent Sergio a short glance before offering his hand to Steven. “Thanks, Stevie. You can go home now. I'll take over from here.”

 

Stevie laughed as he pulled his keys from his back pocket. “The guys are waiting for me at our favourite diner.”

 

Sergio raised an eyebrow. “Really? It's a one and a half hour drive.”

 

“Trust me, Sergio.” Steven winked at him as he walked backwards to his car. “After today, I _really_ need a beer.”

 

Sergio just grinned and shook his head, but then a sudden thought occurred to him. “Stevie!” He jumped down the stairs and leaned down to the open car window. “Could you please tell Cesc's uncle that he's fine? Doc told him everything when we were in prison, but after today... he might like to know he's safe.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

“Thanks, Stevie.” He waved and laughed when Steven answered with honking twice. Turning back to the porch, he found Fernando watching him with a fond smile. “What?”

 

“I'm glad we made it.”

 

Sergio grinned and hopped up the stairs to catch his face in his hands and press a kiss to his lips. “I'm glad you're finally here.”

 

He tried to kiss him again, but Fernando quickly pulled back. “How does going to bed sound?”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

He let Fernando lead the way up the stairs of the safe house and down a narrow hallway. When Fernando pushed open the door at the end of the hall only to reveal a large room with several boxes strewn about and a king-size bed at the far wall, he couldn't hold back a relieved sigh. Finally. A real, comfortable _bed_. With a few quick steps, he crossed the room and flopped down onto the covers.

 

“Awesome,” he sighed. Now that he was lying down, he could feel his muscles growing heavy, his body already shutting down. He looked over at Fernando and patted the mattress. “C'mere.”

 

Fernando's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he walked over. “How about changing?”

 

Sergio quickly caught him by the wrist and pulled him down into his arms. “No. Cuddle first.”

 

_Detective Alonso – who reintroduced himself as Xabi (huh) – has told them to change into black cargo pants and hoodies on the way to the courthouse, and while Sergio still isn't sure what exactly is happening, he complies nonetheless. He has tried to initiate a conversation with Iker via glances and eyebrows, but the curious gazes of Alonso and the guards have his brother shake his head in warning. Still, Sergio can see that he's trying to work it out for himself, as he can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Better be quick, brother, he thinks._

 

_And then the back door of the prison truck finally opens and they are ushered out into a small underground car park, heavily fortified with a closed metal gate. There's only one door, probably leading up into the courthouse. And into freedom, Sergio hopes, as he can barely breathe in this concrete prison, for fear this has all been a joke – or worse, a trick of his imagination. Alonso leads them over to the door and knocks once. Sergio raises an eyebrow when it's Reina who opens the door and beckons them to enter._

 

_Sergio hesitates, but a gentle shove from Iker prompts him to move. “There's only one way out,” his brother mutters behind him, his voice so low only Sergio and the detectives can hear._

 

_Alonso sends them a quick smile, but immediately suppresses it as he turns to address the guards. “We'll take them from here. Stay close by, in case the court finishes early.”_

 

_The nod of the guard closest to them is the last thing Sergio sees before the door falls shut. Iker immediately rounds on the detectives. “What the hell is going on here?!”_

 

_Alonso frowns. “We have to be quick. Fernando will explain everything.”_

 

_Sergio exchanges a glance with Iker, and his brother's eyes are full of doubts. But there really is only one way out, so he decides to lead this time. “Go on, then.”_

 

_They hurry down the narrow hall and up a long winding staircase. There are no wells and the only door they pass is a metal-grilled emergency exit, so when Alonso pushes open the door at the top landing only to reveal a small room with barred windows and a single door in the opposite wall, Sergio instinctively knows where they are._

 

“ _This door leads to the courtroom,” Fernando confirms his unvoiced guess. He's standing at the window, hands clasping three black masks, dressed in the same black cargo pants and hoodie as the brothers. He nods at the detectives. “Thank you. Give us three minutes, then set off the fire alarm.”_

 

_Alonso acknowledges the order with a nod and pulls Reina with him down the stairwell. Fernando turns back to the window, his face impassive. “I'm sorry I didn't let you in on my plan. It was too risky.”_

 

_Iker raises an eyebrow. “Well, and what is your plan?”_

 

“ _I'm going to do my job properly this time. I'm going to return the favour and I'll make sure his death will be irrevocable. With or without your help.” Sergio feels his stomach drop at his businesslike tone of voice, low and void of emotion. He opens his mouth to interject, but Fernando doesn't let him. “Stevie has taken Cesc to a safe house out of town. He's waiting for you behind the emergency door you passed on your way here and he will lead you there if you don't want to be involved in this. But you must make your decision now.”_

 

_Sergio exchanges a helpless look with his brother, but it immediately becomes clear that Iker will leave the decision to him, although he gives a tiny nod to show his support. Sergio turns back to Fernando, takes in his aggressive and haughty stance, with his hands balled into fists and his face pale and drawn – and he hesitates. He doesn't know this side of him, and it frightens him. But then a flash of panic and fear crosses Fernando's eyes, and Sergio is painfully reminded of the day he was forced to watch his lover die, unable to save him._

 

_He takes a quick step forward, cradles Fernando's face in his hands and brings their foreheads together. “I'm with you. Always.”_

 

Sergio's eyes abruptly snapped open, his chest heaving and his hair clinging to his face. It took him a moment to come to his senses. A dream. An exact replica of what had happened in the courthouse, but still just a dream. He exhaled a shuddering breath and frowned as he tried to remember when he'd fallen asleep. One moment, there had been Fernando in his arms, and then... nothing. Sergio shook his head at himself as he kicked off his shoes and reached over to Fernando – who wasn't there.

 

His heart constricted painfully in his chest as he quickly sat up – _it was a dream, it was all a dream, there'll be a guard sitting in the corner_ – but there, there he was. Leaning against the cool glass of the window, his pale skin seemed to glow in the dim moonlight filtering through. Sergio didn't know if he could even see anything outside, but he feared Fernando rather saw things inside his own head which had nothing to do with moonlit cornfields.

 

“Nando...?”

 

At first, Fernando didn't react, but then a visible shudder ran down his frame, as if he had to force himself to return to the present. “I'm sorry. Did I wake you?”

 

Sergio frowned at the tone of his voice, small and soft. “No.” He raised a hand in invitation. “Come back to bed?”

 

Fernando looked back to the window for a few long seconds, clearly contemplating the offer, but then he turned and slowly, reluctantly, walked over to the bed. Sergio watched him lie down, but he didn't immediately pull him into his arms like he would've done any other time. Somehow, he knew that being too close would drive Fernando back into the shell he had worn like armour when he arrived earlier in the evening.

 

“So... couldn't sleep?”

 

There was silence for so long Sergio thought he wouldn't get an answer. But then Fernando turned onto his side, the sheets rustling softly in the quiet. He visibly gathered himself as he fought for words, avoiding Sergio's gaze. “I keep seeing what happened today.” He faltered as his eyes flicked up to gauge his reaction, but Sergio just lay there, waiting patiently for him to continue. “It's like an infinite loop. The sounds, the images... it just doesn't stop...”

 

_As they descend upon the courtroom, the door hitting the wall with a loud bang, he barely registers how Iker and Sergio herd the prosecutors, the jury, the judge and the few selected observers into a corner. He only has eyes for Juan who's sitting at the front table, watching the chaos unfold with disbelief. When his former partner realizes he's coming straight for him, he moves to jump up, but Fernando immediately raises his gun and motions for him to sit back down._

 

_All of a sudden, there's a flurry of movement right next to him and Fernando turns in time to see Leo coming at him. Without pausing to think, the agent whips around his gun and pulls the trigger. Leo crashes into the floor, blood trickling from the hole in his head, but before Fernando can take a breath to calm himself, something else stirs at the edge of his field of vision. He instinctively takes aim and pulls the trigger in the same moment a hand closes tightly around his wrist and jerks his arm to the side. The bullet embeds itself only inches from the shaking body of a minute writer in the witness stand she is hiding in, and Fernando stares down at her in horror, gun still raised._

 

_Gentle fingers brush against his elbow and he looks up at Sergio who's keeping Juan in check with his own gun. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he sends the woman over to Iker with a flick of his gun before turning back to his former partner. The expression on Juan's face has changed from surprise to mocking disinterest, and even if Fernando is still unsettled by the almost-murder of an innocent, that expression makes his blood boil again. That self-absorbed bastard with his confident smile. Fernando, however, can also see the fear lurking beneath and his mouth pulls into a smirk._

 

“ _Hey, Juan.”_

 

_His former partner starts in his seat and his eyes widen, but he quickly reigns in his shock and leans back nonchalantly in the chair. “So... Fernando, back from the dead, and his little guard dog. Come to repeat the experience?”_

 

_Sergio's whole body tenses, but Fernando doesn't answer and simply keeps staring him down, his gun hanging loosely in his hand at his side. So Juan continues, and his taunting voice mingles with Iker's who is delivering a warning to the frightened crowd he is watching over in the corner._

 

“ _You will witness what happens here today and you will tell of it later.”_

 

“ _Do you really think killing me will change anything?”_

 

“ _We do not ask for your poor, or your hungry. We do not want your tired and sick.”_

 

“ _There are others like me. Others who have picked up your trail.”_

 

“ _It is your corrupt and your evil we claim. With every breath, we shall hunt them down.”_

 

“ _What is it, Fernando? Cat got your-”_

 

_Juan abruptly shuts up when Fernando raises his free hand to rest on Sergio's shoulder, and Fernando's smirk grows wider. The bastard is indeed afraid, for he knows he cannot gain control of this situation, whichever words he chooses. “Sese? Would you be so kind and recite a psalm for me?”_

 

_Sergio takes a moment to gather himself in his surprise, but then he complies, his voice shaking with barely concealed scorn. “Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.”_

 

_Fernando stares hard into Juan's frightened eyes, and he feasts on the panic he sees there. “To answer your first question – and just the one: No, I will not repeat the experience, and certainly not by your hands.”_

 

“ _And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.”_

 

_Juan raises his hands in surrender with a cruel smile on his lips, determined to at least get in a parting dig. “Maybe by his hands then.” He nods at Sergio, who stops his recitation to snarl viciously at him. “When he leaves you behind for another toy, you will have sacrificed your whole life for nothing.” A grin. “It's not too late to back out, Nando.”_

 

_Fernando tightens his grip on Sergio's shoulder when he feels the ripple of rage running through his body and raises his gun, lets Juan watch the slow rise of the barrel until it is staring right at his face. “Pray you will never run into me in hell.”_

 

“Do you... regret it?”

 

A heavy sigh. “No. Not really.”

 

“Then what is it? What is eating you up?”

 

“It's not that I killed him. He was responsible for so much suffering, not only on my part, but also on my family's, and yours. I simply repaid the deed.” He paused again, deep in thought. “But it felt like I wasn't myself. Like someone else had resumed control over my body and mind.”

 

“I know.” Sergio took a moment to gather himself. “You scared me.”

 

_Fernando delivers two more bullets to Juan's skull before Sergio gently pries the gun from his stiff fingers. “Fernando,” he breathes into his ear. “You need to change back into your clothes.” When his lover doesn't react, his gaze fixed on Juan's lifeless body, he reaches out to turn his face around. A shiver runs down his spine when he can finally see Fernando's eyes through the mask, dull and empty. “Fernando, please. We have a plan to stick to!”_

 

Fernando exhaled a shaky breath. “I scared myself. I've never felt such... bloodlust before.” He thought back to the minute writer and his blood ran cold with shame. “Everything felt so surreal today, so detached. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what would've happened.”

 

Sergio could hear the threat of tears in his voice and finally reached out to pull him into his arms, curling his whole body around Fernando who let himself fall willingly into the shelter his lover provided. He tightened his embrace when he felt tremors running down Fernando's spine as he fought to keep his composure. “Listen carefully now. I don't think any less of you after what happened today. He pushed you to the limit and for that the midget got what he deserved.”

 

Fernando pressed his face against his neck, his breath tickling his ear. “I know. But why do I still feel so... lost?”

 

“He was the only connection you had left to your old life in Madrid. And then he took that away from you too.” He rubbed soothing circles into Fernando's back. “You are no killer, Fernando. You're a strategist. Leave the dirty work to me.”

 

There was a long pause, but when Fernando pulled back to look him in the eye, he wore a hesitant smile. “I think I may... begin to like my new life here. Prefer it, even.”

 

Sergio released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and returned the smile. “Really now? And why's that?”

 

“Oh, there's this awesome guy I met. Tall, just on the right side of muscular. Great sense of humour. Annoying brother.” He tapped a finger against his chin and looked up to the ceiling as if lost deep in thought. “But what's his name again? I think it was... Iker, or something.”

 

Sergio almost choked on his own spit in his surprise, but then he threw his head back and laughed loudly, Fernando immediately joining in. “You bastard,” he wheezed, but that only made Fernando laugh harder.

 

As tears gathered in his eyes, Sergio thumped Fernando hard on the chest in retaliation, but his lover only replied with a shove to the shoulder. All of a sudden, a playful wrestling match was going on – which was short-lived as Sergio pinned Fernando to the covers with his superior strength. The agent was panting hard, laughter still dancing in his eyes, and Sergio thought he'd never been more beautiful. The thought quickly sobered him up as he stared down at his lover.

 

Fernando seemed to sense the change immediately and the joy in his features turned to concern. “Sese...?”

 

Sergio slowly shook his head. “It's just... I'm really glad you're yourself again.”

 

Fernando raised a hand to caress his face, his thumb gently tracing his prominent cheekbone. “Thanks to you.” His hand slid into Sergio's hair, effectively pulling him down for a kiss. “You keep me alive, in more ways than one,” he whispered against his lips. “Thank you.”

 

Sergio sighed as he stretched himself out on the bed, nestling up against Fernando's side as he settled in for another kiss. “So... no more doubts?”

 

“No more doubts.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

Thank you for staying with me! :)

Up next: the last chapter! It will deal with a still unresolved issue. *hint hint*  ;D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed the psalm from the magnificent movie "Pulp Fiction". Thanks, Quentin! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the last chapter and a special issue I had to neglect over the past few chapters but was determined to solve. I rewrote most of this for AO3. Hope you enjoy! :)

— † —

 

 

“Cesc...”

 

“Don't 'Cesc' me.”

 

A sigh. “You need your rest.”

 

“I've been doing nothing but rest for the past few _weeks_ and I'm sick of it! Besides, if I want to go sit on the couch for a change, then – like it or not – I will!”

 

Iker opened his mouth to protest, but he was interrupted by Sergio sticking his head through the open door. “What's all the fuss about?”

 

Iker sighed again. “Cesc doesn't want to rest.”

 

Sergio raised an eyebrow. “And?” He drew the word out like he wasn't sure if this was Iker's business to begin with, and Cesc loved him for that.

 

“See? Nothing wrong with that. Help me up please?” He pointedly ignored Iker who had instinctively moved forward and reached out to Sergio instead, who obeyed and wound an arm around his waist to pull him up onto his feet. “Thank you.”

 

Iker raised his hands in surrender, a look of hurt on his face. Serves you right, Cesc thought darkly. “Alright, do what you want. I'll go into town to see Doc and get some groceries.”

 

“Wait,” Cesc interjected. “Isn't that too dangerous? They know our faces by now!”

 

“Didn't you tell him?” Sergio sent his brother an incredulous look before he turned back to Cesc. “Fernando pulled some strings to have all the evidence erased. Pictures, video recordings... all gone.”

 

“Oh. No, I didn't know that. Where is he, by the way?”

 

“Gone back to work.”

 

At Cesc's surprised expression, Sergio groaned. “Seriously, Iker?” His hold on Cesc's waist tightened as he glared at his brother in disbelief. “Don't you guys ever talk when you check in on him?”

 

Iker glared right back at him, although he couldn't suppress a guilty blush staining his cheeks. “Anyway, I'll be back by nightfall.”

 

Cesc watched him go with a confused frown, flinching when the front door fell shut with a bang only seconds later. “He checks in on me?”

 

Sergio rolled his eyes at his brother's stupid... _stupidity_. “All the time.”

 

“Oh. I must've been sleeping then.”

 

“Probably. My brother is a chicken.”

 

Cesc peered up at him, but Sergio didn't seem willing to elaborate on that strange remark, so he decided to move the conversation back to safer grounds as he let himself be steered towards the stairs. “So, Fernando. Isn't it too dangerous for him to go back to work?”

 

Sergio sighed, and Cesc suspected that was a question he had asked himself many times. “With the help of the detectives, they shouldn't be able to trace anything back to him. Besides, it seems our cause has attracted more followers than we thought.”

 

“Okay.” Cesc let loose a relieved groan when Sergio finally eased him down onto the couch in the living room. “And now you will _finally_ tell me what I missed.”

 

 

— † —

 

 

54, 55, 56...

 

“ _Did I ever tell you how Sergio smashed a window at the convent down the street? That's actually a pretty funny story...”_

 

57...

 

“ _One time, we slunk out of the house at night to watch a new martial arts movie with that Belgian and our mum was so furious when we finally made it home that she...”_

 

58... Just then, the red digits on his alarm clock changed from 01:12 to 01:13 and Cesc swore heartily under his breath as his fourth attempt at counting a whole minute failed just like the others before. He sank his fingers into his unruly hair and pulled roughly at the strands. This was driving him insane.

 

“ _Sergio never really liked French. That's why he...”_

 

This time, Cesc groaned out loud as he sat up in his bed. He kept hearing Iker's voice in his head, bits of stories and jokes, most of them in half-finished sentences, fading in and out like broadcasts from a broken radio. The irritation he felt towards Sergio's brother did nothing to lift his spirits – on the contrary. Why the hell would Iker speak to him at the prison hospital, only to avoid him like the plague as soon as he could actually contribute to the conversation? What if he had managed to offend him in the short amount of time he'd been fully awake again? Or worse: what if he had imagined hearing Iker's voice? What if his delirious mind had combined wishful thinking with vivid imagination?

 

A determined frown settled on his face as he slowly swung his feet over the edge of the bed. There was only one way to find out. He winced when his bare feet hit the cold parquet flooring and fished for his crutch leaning against his bedside table.

 

The short way down the hall had him breathing hard pretty quickly, and it definitely seemed longer than this morning when Sergio had helped him up and down the stairs. Determined to reach his destination in one go, he ran a hand along the wall to steady himself, trying to ignore his aching knees and the burning sensation in his lungs. Yet, when he finally reached the other end of the hall, he had to lean against the door frame for a few seconds, willing away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes.

 

He waited until he was sure he could form full sentences again without fainting in the middle before raising a shaking hand and knocking softly on the door. He held his breath, already berating himself for his stupid decision to investigate this now, in the middle of the night, when other people were sleeping peacefu-

 

“Yeah...?”

 

Manoeuvring himself into the door way, Cesc slowly pushed the door open. “It's me, Cesc.”

 

Definitely a stupid decision. It wasn't like he was interrupting... something. It felt more like intruding on the few precious minutes Sergio and Fernando were able to steal away from work and recovering, respectively, to be together. Fernando was leaning against the headboard in a heap of pillows, reading a file of some sort, while Sergio was settled in on his stomach between his legs, his head resting above Fernando's heart and his eyes half-closed as he listened to his heartbeat.

 

They looked... different. Not that they hadn't been smitten with each other before, but now that Cesc knew that Sergio had been forced to watch his lover die, that he had been forced to believe his lover was indeed gone for a few terrible weeks, only to discover it wasn't true... there seemed to be a new bond between them, stronger and deeper than what they had shared before. Like there were no secrets left between them...

 

“Cesc, hey!” Sergio quickly pushed himself up onto his elbows, but hesitated when Cesc motioned for him to stay where he was. “What's up? Do you need anything?”

 

...thinking about secrets. “Do you have a minute?” He blushed when Fernando smiled at him, surprisingly completely at ease in his vulnerable position. He'd only ever seen the agent as a friendly, but reserved man that kept his thoughts and emotions firmly locked behind a mask of professionalism. To see him so openly relaxed took him aback and he suddenly questioned his decision to settle this now. “I don't want to intrude, though...” He trailed off, but Sergio's bright smile eased his nerves a bit – until he opened his mouth to speak.

 

“Don't be silly, you never intrude! Come over, sit down and tell Uncle Sergio and Uncle Fernando what is bothering you at this ungodly hour.”

 

Fernando immediately boxed him round the ears, but Sergio just lazily waved him off with a half-hearted scoff. “Don't mind him.” Fernando nodded at Cesc. “But he's right. You're always welcome here-”

 

“Unless there's some sexy times going on.”

 

“-and if you'd like to speak to Sergio in private, I can leave you to it,” Fernando continued as if he hadn't spoken, but his grip on Sergio's shoulder tightened in warning.

 

Cesc cleared his throat. “It's okay, I don't... mind you listening too.”

 

Sergio beckoned him over, his face turned serious and attentive. “Close the door then and come lie down. You look like you might fall over any minute.”

 

Cesc rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, and he couldn't hold back a relieved sigh when he finally sank down onto the bed. “Thank you.”

 

All of a sudden, he felt himself being manhandled under the covers and pulled backwards until his back was pressed up against Fernando's side. An indignant squeak escaped him as Sergio protectively draped his arm over his ribs. “Oh, hush,” the Saint admonished him. “You looked like you needed it. Besides, this is way more comfortable than you perching on the edge like a scared bird.”

 

“I might prefer that, actually,” Cesc grumbled under his breath, but he couldn't deny that the warmth filtering through his shirt was indeed calming him down, not to mention the sense of belonging he'd never experienced before in his entire- Right, focus. He willed down a blush and decided to just get it out into the open. “It's about your brother.”

 

Sergio heaved an exasperated sigh. “What did he do now?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nothing...?”

 

“Yeah, nothing. And that's just it.” Cesc bristled with frustration. “He... I mean, I may be wrong, but he was talking to me when I was sleeping in prison, right? Stories about your childhood and stuff like that?”

 

“Yes...?” Sergio sounded like he was trying hard to figure out where this was heading. “What about it?”

 

Thank God. No illusion then. “Well, since our escape, he kind of... stopped. It's like he's avoiding me and I wonder why. Did I offend him somehow? Did I do anything that-”

 

Sergio's arm tightened around his body and Cesc trailed off mid-sentence. “Darling, you did nothing wrong. It's my brother who's got to get his head out of his-” There was a dull thud, followed by a pause during which Cesc could practically  _hear_ the eyebrow argument going on behind his back. “Listen. Like I said, you did nothing wrong. But Iker has to sort out some... issues he's been carrying around for a while.”

 

“But what's that got to do with me?”

 

Sergio didn't reply for a long moment. Another silent conversation for sure. And then: “Everything.”

 

Frowning, Cesc quickly turned around and struggled into a seating position, allowing Sergio to guide him by the elbow as he too sat up. “What do you mean?” He looked at Fernando. “What the hell is all of this about?!”

 

Fernando exchanged a look with Sergio who in turn nodded at him. That display of in tune understanding made Cesc turn his head away as something constricted painfully in his chest. “Cesc?” Suddenly, there was a warm hand on his neck and Cesc had to fight tears of frustration as all the anger he had felt during the past few days once again washed over him. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

 

Cesc reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Fernando's worried gaze and he immediately felt ashamed for his childish outburst. He nodded once and the agent gave a cautious smile in return. “What do you feel for Iker?”

 

His lungs seemed to fail him as Cesc stared at Fernando in shock, then at Sergio, then back at Fernando. Both of them were watching him with concerned curiosity written all over their faces. His eyes dropped to his lap and to his trembling hands that were fidgeting with the edge of the covers. Why not? “Probably-” A deep breath. “Probably more than I should.”

 

There was no immediate reply and Cesc felt his stomach drop. Until... “Thank  _God!”_

 

Cesc whipped his head up so fast the room around him blurred and wobbled dangerously for a moment. “What?!”

 

Sergio positively  _beamed_ at him. “I knew it!”

 

A look at Fernando confirmed that the agent was equally relieved. What the- “Cesc, what Sergio was  _trying_ to say in his uniquely harebrained way is that he was hoping you would say that because we know Iker does return those feelings.”

 

Shock first, for a few long seconds. Then relief, so intense it was almost choking him. And then hope. Finally, a sliver of goddamn hope. “Really?” He hated how excited and childlike his voice sounded, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you sure?” Fernando and Sergio just grinned widely at him and then at each other – and honestly, why not finish that off with a high five? – and Cesc was left with spluttering through the chaos in his head. “But...”

 

It all made sense. Somehow, it all made sense. The smiles, the defending against Sergio's jokes, the careful way of speaking to him, the sidelong glances... “Jesus Christ, I'm so stupid.”

 

“No, darling.” Sergio gently touched his shoulder. “Iker may have been anything but subtle, but you couldn't know.”

 

There was something that didn't add up, though. “But why back down now? Why make me feel like  _I_ did something wrong?”

 

Sergio met his anger with a solemn expression, his eyes distant as if caught in a memory. “When we were dragged down into that bunker, we thought we were going to die. Iker blames himself for what happened that day, because he thinks he should've come up with a better plan.” He shook his head at himself. “I've told him countless times that he isn't to blame, that we would've been forced to face Juan at some point. At least we got out alive, and that bastard didn't, and that is the most important thing to me. But the stubborn idiot won't listen.”

 

Cesc was silent for a moment as he mulled over this new bit of information. “So... what you're saying is that he's trying to protect me from situations like that by... what? Staying away from me?”

 

Sergio raised his hands in defence. “It's not like I understand what he's on about  _all_ the time.”

 

Cesc looked at Fernando for advice and got a crooked smile and a shrug in return. “That's ridiculous.” A heavy frown settled on his face. “And unacceptable!”

 

Sergio started in surprise when Cesc suddenly jumped up from the bed, picked up his crutch and crossed the room with a few quick steps before ripping the door open and disappearing down the hall in a furious hobble.

 

“Cesc, wait!” There was a curse and then footsteps behind him, but he was so determined to see this through that he didn't pay any heed to Sergio catching up with him. “Cesc!”

 

It was only when Sergio jumped in front of him to block him from reaching Iker's door that he finally focused on him, his eyes narrowed and ablaze with annoyance. “What?!”

 

Sergio put up his hands as if warding off a strike even though Cesc was only staring him down. “He's not there.”

 

Cesc blinked, the words cutting through his anger like a knife. “What do you mean, he's not there? Where the hell is he?!”

 

“He went to visit Doc and he's staying there tonight, because he didn't want to come back all the way when he knew he'd be drinking at the bar.”

 

He looked back at Fernando, ready for the pity in his eyes, but there was only concern and he found he couldn't face it for long. Looking down at his feet, he pulled his free hand down his face. “Great. That's settled then. I won't disturb you any longer. Night.”

 

He moved to leave, but his path was once again blocked by Sergio. “Stay with us tonight, yeah? I don't want to leave you alone right now.”

 

“I'm not a child,” Cesc grumbled as he closed his eyes for a moment against the spots acting up again. He was so exhausted. “I won't do anything _stupid.”_

 

“I know.” A pause. The spots kept getting bigger. Fucking hell. “I'd still feel better if you stayed with us.”

 

He felt his body start to sway and abruptly grasped at Sergio who gently caught his hand and pulled it across his shoulders, easily taking over most of his weight. The spots immediately let up, but they didn't vanish completely and he kept his eyes shut tightly so he wouldn't throw up in the middle of the hallway. The crutch was suddenly pried from his clammy hand and then there was Fernando on his other side. Between the two of them, they half-carried, half-guided him back into their room and carefully set him down on the bed. Until then, there was no fight left in Cesc, so this time, he didn't complain when Sergio pulled him into a loose embrace as Fernando settled in beside them.

 

It should've felt ridiculous. Instead, it just felt like home. “Thank you,” he mumbled into the pillow. “For everything.”

 

Sergio huffed and pulled him closer. “Shut up.”

 

He could feel Fernando tremble next to him as he suppressed his laughter and somehow, it made him smile just before he slipped off into sleep.

 

Home, yes. And just one more thing missing to make it so.

 

 

— † —

 

 

The air was tinged blue from the setting dusk when Iker finally arrived at the safe house, and even Fernando's car was already parked in the driveway. With a wince, Iker checked the time. Half past eight. Right, that had taken longer than he'd originally planned. He'd readily admit that he'd gone to Doc's bar to drink a few beers (or maybe get smashed), because sitting in the house all day long with nothing to do but wait for the whole courtroom thing to blow over was driving him up the wall. What he wouldn't admit though was that he'd fled – fled from the perfect understanding between Sergio and Fernando, from the loneliness of the middle of nowhere, and most of all, from the silent hurt in Cesc's accusing glares. No need to mention how happy he'd been to discover that the heating in the bar kept acting up and Doc needed some help to fix it.

 

When he walked up to the house, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. There were no lights on, despite the quickly falling darkness, and when he unlocked the front door and peered into the hallway, he couldn't see anything in the shadows that were lining the walls. There was no sound, either. He quickly took a deep breath to squash the mounting panic as he bent down to pull his knife from the sheath in his right boot. No one knew they were here. Everyone was okay. There'd be a simple and logical explanation for this.

 

He kept repeating those words in his head as he crept forward down the corridor and threw a quick glance through the open kitchen door. Nothing. The living room was next. Also empty. He was just about to go on when a movement in the backyard caught his eye. He froze and took a closer look. Yes, there was definitely someone in the garden. And the door that led to the patio was wide open, the rapidly cooling night air gently wafting through, carrying with it the sound of... laughter? He listened for a moment – that was definitely his brother's voice.

 

With a sigh, Iker put the knife down onto the coffee table and went over to the patio door, leaning against the frame as he observed the happenings in the garden. Cesc was sitting on the bench next to the old oak tree, wrapped up in Sergio's winter coat and with Fernando's suit jacket covering his knees. His brother and his almost-brother-in-law were playing football, of all things, and judging by their tousled hair and the grassy spots on their clothes, they'd been going at it for a while. Iker shook his head as he watched them push and pick at each other, while Cesc cheered them on and gave a mock sports commentary. His voice was bright with mirth, and Iker absently wondered when he'd last heard him laugh. It seemed like an eternity ago.

 

A loud whoop tore his attention away from Cesc and back to Fernando who was speeding away from Sergio with the ball at his feet. His brother chased after him and, in an attempt _not_ to win the ball but bring his opponent down, threw his arms around Fernando's waist and tackled him to the cold ground. Fernando met the grass with a grunt and a curse, but when he turned onto his back to face his assailant, Iker could see that he was grinning.

 

“Foul,” he wheezed as he half-heartedly fought off Sergio's attempts to hold him down. “Referee! Are you blind? Didn't you see that?!”

 

Cesc nonchalantly leant back and crossed his arms. “I'd say that's a straight red for insulting the official, Mr. Torres.”

 

Fernando groaned and sank back into the grass. He took a few deep breaths and then pursed his lips at Sergio. “I think you ruined my shirt.”

 

Cesc laughed loudly. “I think he ruined _you!”_

 

“Honey,” Sergio said smoothly and pinned down Fernando's hands above his head, “I guess the ref has a point.”

 

“Damn well I have!”

 

But Sergio and Fernando were already lost in their own world, and their grins softened to smiles as Sergio let go of Fernando's wrists to link their fingers together. Iker frowned when the familiar empty feeling spread in his stomach, the one he always got when he saw the two of them together. They were just so bloody _perfect_. He'd never begrudge them what they had found in the unlikeliest of places, not after everything they'd gone through, but sometimes, it was hard to accept the blank spot beside himself. When Sergio leant down for the inevitable kiss, he finally turned away and walked back into the dark living room to put his knife back where it belonged. There was no need to rub it in further.

 

“How long have you been standing there?”

 

Iker quickly straightened back up and almost hit his head on the low couch lamp that was suddenly lit. Cesc was standing in the doorway, leaning on his crutch and looking at him with a weird mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

 

“Not for long. A minute or two.”

 

Cesc raised an eyebrow. He was still wearing Sergio's coat and somehow, it made the empty feeling in Iker's stomach almost unbearable. He knew he was forcing it by pushing him away, but to see him turn to his brother and Fernando instead, to see them form a bond he was not part of... that hurt nonetheless.

 

“Why didn't you come over?”

 

“I, uh...” Iker paused, desperately trying to think of a good answer. “I didn't want to interrupt,” he finished lamely.

 

“Interrupt,” Cesc repeated slowly. He didn't look too convinced. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?! Is this some kind of leader issue you're developing here?”

 

“What's going on?”

 

Iker almost groaned when _of course_ Sergio and Fernando chose that moment to appear in the doorway, looking even more rumpled than before. “Yes, Iker,” Cesc mocked, and Iker winced at the unfamiliar venom in his voice. “Tell us what the fuck is going on!”

 

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “There's nothing going on.”

 

“You're right,” Cesc mumbled, and now, he only sounded defeated. “There's nothing going on.”

 

Iker sent Fernando a confused look, but only got a concerned glare in return before the agent leant over to whisper something into Sergio's ear. The two of them fought a short and silent battle of stares, and then his brother sighed and nodded. They turned and walked back into the garden, and Iker was left with his bewilderment.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“Nothing.” Cesc raised his free hand to push his unruly hair out of his face. “Forget I said anything.”

 

“Cesc... Did something happen?”

 

“No!” Iker almost jumped out of his skin when Cesc suddenly started shouting. “Nothing happened!” He raised his crutch and pointed it at Iker as if it were a weapon. “Ever since Fernando sprang us out, you've been ignoring me! It confused me and hurt me, and do you know what? I even thought I did something wrong!”

 

Iker squirmed under his intense and furious glare. “You did nothing wr-”

 

“Exactly! I did nothing wrong! So why would you treat me like a stranger all of a sudden? I thought there was something between you and me, and I had hoped-” He paused and his shoulders slumped as all the fight left him. “Fuck, Iker, if you don't want me, just say so. But don't treat me like that.”

 

Iker felt his blood run cold. “Cesc, I...” He stopped, unsure how to go on.

 

“You what?” Cesc exhaled in a rush and hobbled forward until he could sink down onto the couch. “For God's sake, Iker. What?”

 

“I'm... afraid.” He took a deep breath to clear the lump in his throat. “I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you. I almost lead you to your death once and I couldn't bear it if it happened again.”

 

“Iker, we're not on our own anymore.” Cesc sighed, and he suddenly looked older than he really was, weary and exhausted. “Fernando is on our side and he'd never betray us. Neither would Stevie, Xabi or Pepe. With allies like them, we stand a much better chance. So you better think of another reason, because that one's utter shit.”

 

Iker shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to think straight. He'd never been as comfortable with words as Sergio always seemed to be, and he felt physically sick as he watched the easy relationship he'd had with Cesc go down the drain.

 

“Well?”

 

The weariness in his voice turned Iker's stomach, and all of a sudden, he realized it was useless to deny everything. Cesc knew. He didn't know how, but it was somehow suddenly as clear as day. “You could do so much better than me.”

 

“Are you insane?!” Cesc stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. “Don't I get to decide that? Fuck, Iker, can't you see that you're the only one I want?” He threw his hands up in frustration and moved to get up from the couch. “Like I said, if you don't want me, just tell me!”

 

With a few quick steps, Iker crossed the room and knelt down next to Cesc, his hands coming up to rest on his knees to prevent him from standing up. “I do want you. I just... I don't know how to make this work.”

 

“What's there to do to 'make this work'? Why not just... try and see?”

 

“I just don't want to fuck this up.”

 

Cesc looked down at Iker's hands on his knees, and then he hesitantly covered them with his own. “It's working for Sergio and Nando, you know.” Iker involuntarily scrunched up his nose at the reminder which prompted Cesc to chuckle softly. “Yeah, I know, it's a bit much sometimes. But despite all their differences, they do make it work, and I think... I think we could, too.”

 

Iker studied him silently for a moment. “Are you sure?”

 

“Fucking kiss him alre-”

 

Both of them jumped when Sergio's voice suddenly echoed around the patio. It ended with a muffled shout and Fernando's retreating voice calling 'Sorry!'. Cesc grinned and shook his head at Iker's murderous glare out the door before awkwardly clearing his throat. “So, how about it?”

 

Iker turned back to him, and his glare immediately softened into an almost-smile. “About getting together or about kissing?”

 

With a quick eyeroll, Cesc curled his hands around the collar of Iker's shirt and abruptly pulled him forward, smashing their lips together. Both of them gasped – finally, _finally_ – and they only leant back when air became scarce. Iker looked positively stunned. “Wow, okay... You convinced me.”

 

Cesc smiled and gave him another peck on his lips. “Promise you won't chicken out?”

 

Iker took a deep breath and then returned the smile. “Promise.”

 

“Don't you two dare fuck on the couch!”

 

 

— † —

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few sentences of this story date back to July 2013 and I can't believe how it has grown over so many months. But it wouldn't have been possible to do it on my own, so I want to thank the following people for pushing me on in many different ways:
> 
> GimlisBeard: for betareading and for being such a great best friend.  
> lumaste: for constantly cheering me on, for listening patiently to me losing my head and generally for being such an amazing human being.  
> darthenna: for taking the time to let me know her opinion for every chapter.
> 
> And last but not least, thank you who read, who left kudos, who commented and who made this worthwhile! I bow to you all! Thank you very much for your support! :)
> 
> Merry Christmas in advance!

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the title from the amazing Iron Maiden song of the same name.


End file.
